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LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    H.    H.    KM  iani 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


H.    DE    BALZAC 


THE   COMEDIE    HUMAINE 


THE  HOUSE,  RUE  FORTUNEE,  PARIS,  IN   WHICH   BALZAC  DIED. 


H.    DE    BALZAC 
THE 

HARLOT'S  PROGRESS 

(SPLENDEURS  ET  MlSERES  DES  COURTISANES) 
VOL.  I. 

TRANSLATED  BY 

JAMES  WARING 

WITH  A  PREFACE  BY 

GEORGE  SAINTSBURY 


PHILADELPHIA 

THE  GEBBIE  PUBLISHING  Co.,  Ltd. 
1898 


PAGE 

PREFACE  ........       v       .  ix 

HARLOT'S  PROGRESS— 

ESTHER   HAPPY      .......  I 

WHAT  LOVE  COSTS   AN  OLD  MAN  .....      168 

THE   END   OP  EVIL   WAYS  .  318 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE  HOUSE,  RUE   FORTUNES,  PARIS,  IN  WHICH   BALZAC 

DIED Frontispiece. 

Front  a  Water-color,  the  property  of  M.  tc  Vicomte  de  Spaelberch 
de  Lovenjoul.  Reproduced  by  his  kind  permission,  and  etched 
by  H.  Crickmore. 

PACK 

HE FOUND    POOR    ESTHER    IN    FRONT    OF  AN   IMAGE  OF  THE 

VIRGIN      .  24 

LUCIEN   BURNT  THE   NOTE  AT  ONCE  IN  THE  FLAME  OF  A  CANDLE      103 
EUROPE  LED  THE  WAY,  CARRYING  A   CANDLE  .  148 

SHE   FOUND  HER   KNEELING  IN  FRONT   OF  A  CRUCIFIX  ,      2l8 

Drawn  by  W.  Boucher. 


PREFACE. 

"SPLENDEURS    ET    MlSERES     DES    CoURTISANES  "    has    the 

interest  (which  it  shares  with  only  one  or  two  others  of  Bal- 
zac's works),  if  not  exactly  of  touching  the  two  extremities  of 
his  prosperous  career,  at  any  rate  of  stretching  over  a  great 
part  of  it.  It  also  exemplifies  the  very  uncertain  and  for- 
tuitous scheme  of  the  Comedie  and  its  component  scenes.  At 
first  nothing  of  it  appeared  but  the  first  part,  and  only  half  of 
that,  under  the  title  of  "  La  Torpille  "  (Esther  Gobseck's  nick- 
name), which  was  published,  together  with  "La  Femme  Su- 
perieure,"  the  first  form  of  "  Les  Employes,"  and  "  La  Maison 
Nucingen,"  in  1838.  Five  years  later  it  appeared  in  a  news- 
paper as  "  Esther,  ou  Les  Amours  d'un  vieux  Banquier,"  the 
first  part  being  now  completed,  and  the  second  added.  It 
was  not  till  1846  that  "  Ou  menent  les  mauvais  Chemins  "  ap- 
peared, and  this  book  itself  had  different  titles.  Finally,  in 
Balzac's  very  last  period  of  writing  at  the  end  of  1846,  or  the 
beginning  of  1847 — f°r  he  and  his  bibliographer  are  at  issue 
on  that  point, — "  La  derniere  Incarnation  de  Vautrin  "  was 
added  as  a  fourth  part,  making  the  book,  already  one  of  the 
longest,  now  by  far  the  longest  of  all.  But  the  four  were  not 
published  together  till  the  "edition  definitive,"  many  years 
after  Balzac's  death. 

It  would  in  any  case  have  been  necessary  to  devote  two  of 
these  volumes  to  so  great  a  mass  of  matter,  and  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  of  separating  Vautrin  from  the  rest  for  the  purposes 
of  introduction.  The  truth  is  that  the  book  ends  much  more 
artistically  with  "  Ou  menent  les  mauvais  Chemins;  "  and  if 
Balzac  really  intended  to  make  "  La  derniere  Incarnation  de 
Vautrin  "  a  continuation,  this,  as  well  as  the  great  length  of  the 
book,  would  lead  me  to  imagine  that  he  had  in  mind  rather  a 

(ix) 


x  PREFACE. 

sort  of  subdivision  of  the  Scenes  de  la  Vie  Parisienne  than  a 
single  work. 

For  it  must  be  at  once  evident  that  with  the  deaths  of  Esther 
and  of  Lucien,  art,  sense,  and  truth  require  that  the  curtain 
should  fall.  It  may  have  been  very  desirable  to  finish  off 
Vautrin ;  and,  as  I  shall  have  occasion  to  point  out,  he  is  a 
very  interesting  person.  But  his  mauvais  chemin  is  quite  a 
different  one  from  that  of  Esther;  and  he  is  only  indirectly 
concerned  with  the  particular  splendeurs  et  miseres. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  history  of  "La  Torpille  "  and  of 
Lucien  de  Rubempre  is  by  itself  smoother  and  more  complete. 
It  affords  Balzac,  no  doubt,  opportunities  of  indulging  a  very 
large  number  of  his  extensive  assortment  of  fancies,  not  to  say 
fads,  and  of  bringing  in  a  great  number  of  the  personages  of 
his  stock  company.  Vautrin,  the  terrible  and  mysterious,  in 
his  new  avatar,  is  only  one  of  these.  Corentin  reappears  from 
the  far  distance  of  "  Les  Chouans;  "  but  playing  no  very  dis- 
similar part,  though  his  machinations  are  directed  against  less 
innocent  persons.  We  receive  abundant  information  as  to 
the  way  in  which  Baron  Nucingen  got  rid  of  the  money  which 
he  obtained  by  means  already  detailed  with  equal  care  else- 
where. Madame  de  Maufrigneuse  and  Madame  de  S6rizy 
play  important  parts;  and  many  others  come  and  go. 

But  still  Esther  van  Gobseck  and  Lucien  Chardon  de  Ru- 
bempre are  as  much  the  hero  and  heroine  of  the  story,  and 
make  the  first  three  parts  as  much  a  story  to  themselves,  as 
Le  Pere  Goriot  and  Eugenie  Grandet  are  the  hero  and  heroine 
of  the  books  to  which  they  very  justly  give  their  names. 

I  forget  whether  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  in  the  numerous  and 
rather  idle  Balzac  "keys"  which  MM.  Cerfberr  and  Chris- 
tophe  have  not  deigned  to  include  in  their  REPERTOIRE,  is 
identified  with  any  actual  personage.  It  has  been,  and  will 
be  observed,  that  Balzac  was  too  great  an  artist  either  to  need, 
or,  indeed,  often  to  attempt,  this  commonplace  and  catch- 
penny means  of  interest.  But  in  the  world  of  fiction  in  gen- 


PREFACE.  xi 

eral,  and  of  the  Comedie  in  particular,  Lucien  is  half-comple- 
ment, half-counterpart  of  Eugene  de  Rastignac.  He  is  the 
adventurer,  not  entirely  without  good  blood  in  his  veins,  who 
ventures  into  the  intersecting  or  overlapping  worlds  of  fashion, 
of  journalism,  of  speculation,  and  of  politics,  but  who  has  not, 
like  Rastignac,  either  strength  or  coolness  of  head  to  swim 
through  the  whirlpool  and  reach  the  shore.  It  may  be  in- 
teresting to  the  reader  to  form  his  own  opinion  how  far  Lu- 
cien's  ruin — brought  about,  be  it  remembered,  by  charges  of 
which  he  is  actually  innocent — is  due  to  the  evil,  though  not 
in  his  case  intentionally  hostile,  influence  of  Vautrin,  how  far 
it  is  due  to  his  own  weakness.  Balzac  was  too  much  of  an 
artist  to  decide  very  definitively  either  way ;  but  despite  his 
rather  mistaken  admiration  of  Vautrin,  I  think  he  had  the 
sense  to  give  most  weight  to  the  internal  causes.  The  moral 
— for  there  is  always  a  moral  in  Balzac — is,  of  course,  the  old 
one  of  a  thousand  fables  and  a  thousand  forms,  the  best  of 
which  perhaps  is  the  Spenserian  apposition  of  "  Be  bold,  be 
bold,  and  everywhere  be  bold,"  with  "  Be  not  too  bold  " — the 
moral  that  on  the  "Brigg  of  Dread"  of  ambition  and  covet- 
ousness  there  is  nothing  but  absolute  perdition  for  him  who 
cannot  keep  his  feet  and  his  head.  There  is  not  perhaps  so 
much  irony  as  there  would  be  in  some  writers  about  the  pre- 
sentation of  Lucien,  who  is  really  a  poor  creature  enough,  as 
the  very  darling  of  all  the  great  ladies  of  Paris  as  well  as  of 
persons  at  the  other  end  of  the  scale ;  but  it  is  there. 

With  Esther  it  is  even  plainer  sailing.  Her  history  is  simply 
a  "  Harlot's  Progress  "  on  a  more  fantastic  and  gorgeous  scale, 
with  the  final  fortune  thrown  in  (this  applies  to  Lucien  as  well 
as  to  her)  for  a  climax  of  Nemesis.  Perhaps  there  is  another 
moral  here — that  when  any  one  has  once  embarked  on  this 
particular  mauvais  chemin  (evil  way)  it  is  not  merely  idle,  but 
ruinous,  to  indulge  in  sincere  affection  for  anybody — that  you 
must  "play  the  game,"  here  as  elsewhere,  and  that  you  can- 
not be  permitted  to  play  the  fair  game  and  the  foul  at  once. 


xii  PREFACE. 

On  the  whole,  I  should  put  this  book  a  little  below  Balzac's 
very  best,  but  in  the  forefront  of  his  average  work.  Some  I 
know  have  rated  it  very  highly  ;  but  such  a  slightly  glorified 
"  Alphonse  "  as  Rubempre  is  too  disgusting  a  hero  to  be  tol- 
erated without  even  greater  power  than  Balzac  has  here  put 
forth,  even  though  Esther  to  no  small  extent  redeems  him. 

A  good  deal  of  the  rather  complicated  bibliography  of 
"  Splendeurs  et  Miseres"  has  necessarily  been  given  above. 
Some  additional  details  here  may  complete  the  information 
in  regard  to  the  whole  of  it,  as  Balzac  finally  arranged  it, 
that  is  to  say,  with  the  "  Derniere  Incarnation"  included. 
"  La  Torpille  ' '  (vide  supra)  came  out  as  a  book  without  any  pre- 
vious newspaper  publication,  but  with  "LaFemmeSuperieure" 
(now  called  "  Les  Employes  ")  and  "La  Maison  Nucingen  " 
in  1838,  published  in  two  volumes  by  Werdet.  It  was  divided 
into  three  chapters  with  a  view  to  feuilleton  publication  in  the 
11  Presse."  But  this  did  not  appear.  The  rest  of  the  present 
"  Comment  aiment  les  Filles,"  with  most  of  "A  Combien 
1' Amour  revient  aux  Vieillards,"  did  appear  in  this  form  in  "Le 
Parisien  "  during  the  month  of  June  1843  an<^  ^n  a  ^ew  ^ays  ^n 
May  and  July.  The  first  part  was  included  as  well  in  this  pub- 
lication. "Le  Parisien"  was  not  successful,  and  the  end  of 
"A  Combien  1'Amour"  never  came  out,  but  is  included  in  a 
three-volume  book  publication  of  the  thing  next  year  by  de 
Potter.  Then  the  whole,  which  had  in  "Le  Parisien"  been 
called  "  Esther,  ou  Les  Amours  d'un  veux  Banquier,"  received 
its  present  general  heading  with  the  addition  "  Esther."  The 
book  was  next  entered  in  the  Com6die,  the  first  part  being 
called  "Esther  Heureuse."  "Ou  menent  les  mauvais  Che- 
mins"  appeared  in  the  newspaper  "L'Epoque"  during  July 
1846,  and  was  then  called  "  Une  Instruction  criminelle ;  "  but 
it  was  forthwith  included  in  the  Comedie  under  its  actual  title, 
and  a  year  later  published  separately  by  jSouverain.  But 
"Splendeurs  et  Miseres"  had  a  bad  habit  of  killing  journals 
under  it;  and  "L'Epoque  "  too,  having  died,  "La  derniere 


PREFACE.  xiii 

Incarnation  appeared  in  the  "Presse"  (strangely  enough, 
seeing  that  this  was  the  journal  which  ought  to  have  published 
the  first  part  ten  years  earlier)  in  April  and  May  1847. 
Chlendowski  published  it  as  a  book  the  same  year.  The  date 
"  December  1847  "  appears  to  have  been  a  mistake  or  a  whim 
of  Balzac's. 

G.  S. 


THE   HARLOT'S   PROGRESS 

(Splendeurs  et  Miseres  des  Courtisanes). 

To  His  Highness 
Prince  Alfonso  Serafino  di  Par  da. 

Allow  me  to  place  your  name  at  the  beginning  of  an 
essentially  Parisian  work,  thought  out  in  your  house 
during  these  latter  days.  Is  it  not  natural  that  I  should 
offer  you  the  flowers  of  rhetoric  that  blossomed  in  your 
garden,  watered  with  the  regrets  I  suffered  from  home- 
sickness, which  you  soothed,  as  I  wandered  under  the 
boschetti  whose  elms  reminded  me  of  the  Champs- 
Ely  sees  ?  Thus,  perchance,  may  I  expiate  the  crime 
of  having  dreamed  of  Paris  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Duomo,  of  having  longed  for  our  muddy  streets  on  the 
clean  and  elegant  flagstones  of  Porta-Renza.  When 
I  have  some  book  to  publish  which  may  be  dedicated 
to  a  Milanese  lady,  I  shall  have  the  happiness  of  find- 
ing names  already  dear  to  your  old  Italian  romancers 
among  those  of  women  whom  we  love,  and  to  whose 
memory  I  would  beg  you  to  recall  your  sincerely 
affectionate 

DE  BALZAC. 

July,  1838. 

ESTHER  HAPPY;  OR,  HOW  A  HARLOT  CAN  LOVE. 

IN  1824,  at  the  last  opera-ball  of  the  season,  several  masks 
were  struck  by  the  beauty  of  a  young  man  who  was  wandering 
about  the  corridors  and  green-room  with  the  air  of  a  man  in 
search  of  a  woman  kept  at  home  by  unexpected  circumstances. 
The  secret  of  this  manner  and  gait,  now  dilatory  and  aga 

(1) 


2  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

hurried,  is  known  only  to  old  women  and  to  certain  experi- 
enced loungers.  In  this  immense  assembly  the  crowd  does 
not  trouble  itself  much  to  watch  the  crowd;  each  one's  in- 
terest is  impassioned,  and  even  idlers  are  preoccupied. 

The  young  dandy  was  so  much  absorbed  in  his  anxious 
quest  that  he  did  not  observe  his  own  success ;  he  did  not 
hear,  he  did  not  see  the  ironical  exclamations  of  admiration, 
the  genuine  appreciation,  the  biting  gibes,  the  soft  invitations 
of  some  of  the  masks.  Though  he  was  so  handsome  as  to 
rank  among  those  exceptional  persons  who  come  to  an  opera- 
ball  in  search  of  an  adventure,  and  who  expect  it  as  confi- 
dently as  men  looked  for  a  lucky  throw  at  roulette  in  Frascati's 
day,  he  seemed  quite  philosophically  sure  of  his  evening ;  he 
must  be  the  hero  of  one  of  those  mysteries  with  three  actors 
which  constitute  an  opera-ball,  and  are  known  only  to  those 
who  play  a  part  in  them;  for,  to  young  wives  who  come 
merely  to  say:  "  I  have  seen  it,"  to  country  people,  to  inex- 
perienced youths,  and  to  foreigners,  the  opera-house  must  on 
those  nights  be  the  palace  of  fatigue  and  dullness.  To  these, 
that  black  swarm,  slow  and  serried — coming,  going,  winding, 
turning,  returning,  mounting,  descending,  comparable  only  to 
ants  about  their  hill — is  no  more  intelligible  than  the  Bourse 
to  a  Breton  peasant  who  has  never  heard  of  the  Grand  livre. 

With  rare  exceptions,  men  wear  no  masks  in  Paris ;  a 
man  in  a  domino  is  thought  ridiculous.  In  this  the  spirit  of 
the  nation  betrays  itself.  Men  who  want  to  hide  their  good 
fortune  can  enjoy  the  opera-ball  without  going  there;  and 
masks  who  are  absolutely  compelled  to  go  in  come  out  again 
at  once.  One  of  the  most  amusing  scenes  is  the  crush  at  the 
doors  produced  as  soon  as  the  dancing  begins,  by  the  rush  of 
persons  getting  away  and  struggling  with  those  who  are  push- 
ing in.  So  the  men  who  wear  masks  are  either  jealous  hus- 
bands who  come  to  watch  their  wives,  or  hjisbands  on  the 
loose  who  do  not  wish  to  be  watched  by  them — two  situations 
equally  ridiculous, 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  3 

Now,  our  young  man  was  followed,  though  he  knew  it  not, 
by  a  man  in  a  mask,  dogging  his  steps,  short  and  stout,  with 
a  rolling  gait,  like  a  barrel.  To  every  one  familiar  with  the 
opera  this  disguise  betrayed  a  stockbroker,  a  banker,  a  lawyer, 
some  citizen  soul  suspicious  of  infidelity.  For,  in  fact,  in 
really  high  society,  no  one  courts  such  humiliating  proofs. 
Several  masks  had  laughed  as  they  pointed  this  preposterous 
figure  out  to  each  other ;  some  had  spoken  to  him,  a  few  young 
men  had  made  game  of  him,  but  his  stolid  manner  showed 
entire  contempt  for  these  random  shots;  he  went  on  whither 
the  young  man  led  him,  as  a  hunted  wild  boar  goes  on  and 
pays  no  heed  to  the  bullets  whistling  about  his  ears,  or  the 
dogs  yelping  at  his  heels. 

Though  at  first  sight  pleasure  and  anxiety  wear  the  same 
livery — the  noble  black  robe  of  Venice — and  though  all  is 
confusion  at  an  opera-ball,  the  various  circles  composing 
Parisian  society  meet  there,  recognize,  and  observe  each  other. 
There  are  certain  ideas  so  clear  to  the  initiated  that  this 
scrawled  medley  of  interests  is  as  legible  to  them  as  an  amusing 
novel.  So,  to  these  old  hands,  this  man  could  not  be  here 
by  appointment ;  he  would  infallibly  have  worn  some  token, 
red,  white,  or  green,  such  as  notifies  a  happy  meeting  pre- 
viously agreed  on.  Was  it  a  case  of  revenge? 

After  awhile,  seeing  the  domino  following  so  closely  in  the 
wake  of  a  man  apparently  happy  in  an  assignation,  some  of 
the  gazers  looked  again  at  the  handsome  face,  on  which  antici- 
pation had  set  its  divine  halo.  The  young  man  was  inter- 
esting 5  the  longer  he  wandered,  the  more  curiosity  he  excited. 
Everything  about  him  proclaimed  the  habits  of  refined  life. 
In  obedience  to  a  fatal  law  of  the  time  we  live  in,  there  is  not 
much  difference,  physical  or  moral,  between  the  most  elegant 
and  best-bred  son  of  a  duke  and  peer  and  this  attractive  youth, 
whom  poverty  had  not  long  since  held  in  its  iron  grip  in  the 
heart  of  Paris.  Beauty  and  youth  might  cover  in  him  deep 
gulfs,  as  in  many  a  young  man  who  longs  to  play  a  part  in 


4  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

Paris  without  having  the  capital  to  support  his  pretensions,  and 
who,  day  after  day,  risks  all  to  win  all,  by  sacrificing  to  the 
god  who  has  most  votaries  in  this  royal  city,  namely,  Chance. 
At  the  same  time,  his  dress  and  manners  were  above  reproach  ; 
he  trod  the  classic  precincts  of  the  green-room  as  one  accus- 
tomed there.  Who  can  have  failed  to  observe  that  there,  as 
in  every  zone  in  Paris,  there  is  a  manner  of  being  which  shows 
who  you  are,  what  you  are  doing,  whence  you  come,  and  what 
you  want  ? 

"What  a  handsome  young  fellow;  and  here  we  may  turn 
round  to  look  at  him,"  said  a  mask,  in  whom  accustomed  eyes 
recognized  a  lady  of  position. 

"Do  not  you  remember  him?"  replied  the  man  on  whose 
arm  she  was  leaning.  "  Madame  du  Chatelet  introduced  him 
to  you " 

"  What,  is  that  the  apothecary's  son  she  fancied  herself  in 
love  with,  who  became  a  journalist,  Mademoiselle  Coralie's 
lover?" 

"  I  fancied  he  had  fallen  too  low  ever  to  pull  himself  up 
again,  and  I  cannot  understand  how  he  can  show  himself 
again  in  the  world  of  Paris,"  said  Comte  Sixte  du  Chatelet. 

"  He  has  the  air  of  a  prince,"  the  mask  went  on,  "  and  it  is 
not  the  actress  he  lived  with  who  could  give  it  him.  My 
cousin,  who  invented  him,  could  not  lick  him  into  shape.  I 
should  like  to  know  the  mistress  of  this  Sarginus ;  tell  me 
something  about  him  that  will  enable  me  to  mystify  him." 

This  couple,  whispering  as  they  watched  the  young  man, 
became  the  object  of  study  to  the  square-shouldered  domino. 

"  Dear  Monsieur  Chardon,"  said  the  prefect  of  the  Charente, 
taking  the  young  dandy's  arm,  "  allow  me  to  introduce  you 
to  some  one  who  wishes  to  renew  acquaintance  with  you " 

"Dear  Comte  Chatelet,"  replied  the  young  man,  "that 
lady  taught  me  how  ridiculous  was  the  name  by  which  you 
address  me.  A  patent  from  the  king  has  restored  to  me  that 
of  my  mother's  family — the  Rubemprds.  Although  the  fact 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  5 

has  been  announced  in  the  papers,  it  relates  to  so  unimportant 
a  person  that  I  need  not  blush  to  recall  it  to  my  friends,  my 
enemies,  and  those  who  are  neither.  You  may  class  yourself 
where  you  will,  but  I  am  sure  you  will  not  disapprove  of  a  step 
to  which  I  was  advised  by  your  wife  when  she  was  still  only 
Madame  de  Bargeton." 

This  neat  retort,  which  made  the  marquise  smile,  gave  the 
prefect  of  la  Charente  a  nervous  chill.  "  You  may  tell  her," 
Lucien  went  on,  "  that  I  now  bear  gules,  a  bull  raging  argent 
on  a  meadow  vert." 

"  Raging  argent,"  echoed  Chalelet. 

"  Madame  la  Marquise  will  explain  to  you,  if  you  do  not 
know,  why  that  old  coat  is  a  little  better  than  the  chamber- 
lain's key  and  the  golden  bees  of  the  Empire  which  you  bear 
on  yours,  to  the  great  despair  of  Madame  Chzltelet,  nee  Negre- 
pelisse  d'Espard,"  said  Lucien  sharply. 

"  Since  you  recognize  me,  I  cannot  puzzle  you ;  and  I  could 
never  tell  you  how  much  you  puzzle  me,"  said  the  Marquise 
d'Espard,  amazed  at  the  coolness  and  insolence  to  which  the 
man  had  risen  whom  she  had  formerly  despised. 

"Then  allow  me,  madame,  to  preserve  my  only  chance  of 
occupying  your  thoughts  by  remaining  in  that  mysterious  twi- 
light," said  he,  with  the  smile  of  a  man  who  does  not  wish  to 
risk  assured  happiness. 

The  marquise  was  unable  to  restrain  a  gesture  of  displeasure 
at  finding  herself  "cut,"  as  they  say  in  England,  by  Lucien's 
formality. 

"I  congratulate  you  on  your  changed  fortunes,"  said  the 
Comte  du  Chatelet  to  Lucien. 

"  I  take  it  as  you  offer  it,"  replied  Lucien,  bowing  with 
much  grace  to  the  marquise. 

"What  a  conceited  puppy!  "  said  the  count  in  an  under- 
tone to  Madame  d'Espard.  "  He  has  succeeded  in  winning 
an  ancestry." 

"  With  these  young  men  such  conceit,  when  it  is  addressed 


6  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

to  us,  almost  always  implies  some  success  in  high  places,"  said 
the  lady;  "with  you  older  men  it  means  ill-fortune.  And 
I  should  very  much  like  to  know  which  of  my  grand  lady 
friends  has  taken  this  fine  bird  under  her  patronage ;  then  I 
might  find  the  means  of  amusing  myself  this  evening.  My 
ticket,  anonymously  sent,  is  no  doubt  a  bit  of  mischief  planned 
by  a  rival  and  having  something  to  do  with  this  young  man. 
His  impertinence  may  have  been  dictated  to  him  ;  keep  an 
eye  on  him.  I  will  take  the  Due  de  Navarrein's  arm.  You 
will  be  able  to  find  me  again." 

Just  as  Madame  d'Espard  was  about  to  address  her  cousin, 
the  mysterious  mask  came  between  her  and  the  duke  to 
whisper  in  her  ear : 

"  Lucien  loves  you ;  he  wrote  the  note.  Your  prefect  is  his 
greatest  foe;  how  can  he  speak  in  his  presence?" 

The  stranger  moved  off,  leaving  Madame  d'Espard  a  prey 
to  a  double  surprise.  The  marquise  knew  no  one  in  the  world 
who  was  capable  of  playing  the  part  assumed  by  this  mask  • 
she  suspected  a  snare,  and  went  to  sit  down  out  of  sight.  The 
Comte  Sixte  du  Chatelet — whom  Lucien  had  abridged  of  his 
ambitious  du  with  an  emphasis  that  betrayed  long  meditated 
revenge — followed  the  handsome  dandy,  and  presently  met  a 
young  man  to  whom  he  thought  he  could  speak  without 
reserve. 

"Well,  Rastignac,  have  you  seen  Lucien?  He  has  come 
to  life  again  in  a  new  skin." 

"  If  I  were  half  as  good-looking  as  he  is,  I  should  be  twice 
as  rich,"  replied  the  fine  gentleman,  in  a  light  but  meaning 
tone,  expressive  of  Attic  raillery. 

"  No  !  "  said  the  stout  mask  in  his  ear,  repaying  a  thousand 
ironies  in  one  by  the  accent  he  lent  the  monosyllable. 

Rastignac,  who  was  not  the  man  to  swallow  an  affront, 
stood  as  if  struck  by  lightning,  and  allowed  himself  to  be 
led  into  a  recess  by  a  grasp  of  iron  which  he  could  not  shake 
off. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  7 

"  You  young  cockerel,  hatched  in  Mother  Vauquer's  hen- 
coop— you,  whose  heart  failed  you  to  clutch  old  Taillefer's 
millions  when  the  hardest  part  of  the  business  was  done — let 
me  tell  you,  for  your  personal  safety,  that  if  you  do  not  treat 
Lucien  like  the  brother  you  love,  you  are  in  our  power,  while 
we  are  not  in  yours.  Silence  and  submission  !  or  I  shall  join 
your  game  and  upset  the  ten-pins.  Lucien  de  Rubempre  is 
under  the  protection  of  the  strongest  power  of  the  day — the 
church.  Choose  between  life  and  death.  Answer  me." 

Rastignac  felt  giddy,  like  a  man  who  has  slept  in  a  forest 
and  wakes  to  see  by  his  side  a  famishing  lioness.  He  was 
frightened,  and  there  were  no  witnesses;  the  boldest  men 
yield  to  fear  under  such  circumstances. 

"No  one  but  he  can  know — or  would  dare "  he  mur- 
mured to  himself. 

The  mask  clutched  his  hand  tighter  to  prevent  his  finishing 
his  sentence. 

"Act  as  if  I  were  he"  he  said. 

Rastignac  then  acted  like  a  millionaire  on  the  high  road 
with  a  brigand's  pistol  at  his  head  ;  he  surrendered. 

"My  dear  count,"  said  he  to  du  Chatelet,  to  whom  he 
presently  returned,  "  if  you  care  for  your  position  in  life,  treat 
Lucien  de  Rubempre  as  a  man  whom  you  will  one  day  see 
holding  a  place  far  above  that  where  you  stand." 

The  mask  made  an  imperceptible  gesture  of  approbation, 
and  went  off  in  search  of  Lucien. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  have  changed  your  opinion  of  him 
very  suddenly,"  replied  the  prefect  with  natural  surprise. 

"As  suddenly  as  men  change  who  belong  to  the  Centre 
and  vote  with  the  Right,"  replied  Rastignac  to  the  prefect- 
deputy,  whose  vote  had  for  a  few  days  failed  to  support  the 
ministry. 

"Are  there  such  things  as  opinions  nowadays?  There  are 
only  interests,"  observed  des  Lupeaulx,  who  had  heard  them. 
"  What  is  the  case  in  point  ?  " 


8  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"The  case  of  the  Sieur  de  Rubempre,  whom  Rastignac  is 
setting  up  as  a  person  of  consequence,"  said  du  Chatelet  to 
the  secretary-general. 

"  My  dear  count,"  replied  des  Lupeaulx  very  seriously, 
"  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  is  a  young  man  of  the  highest  merit, 
and  has  such  good  interest  at  his  back  that  I  should  consider 
myself  very  fortunate  to  be  able  to  renew  my  acquaintance 
with  him." 

"  There  he  is,  rushing  into  the  wasps'  nest  of  the  rakes  of 
the  day,"  said  Rastignac. 

The  three  speakers  looked  toward  a  corner  where  a  group 
of  recognized  wits  had  gathered,  men  of  more  or  less  celebrity, 
and  several  men  of  fashion.  These  gentlemen  made  common 
stock  of  their  jests,  their  remarks,  and  their  scandal,  trying  to 
amuse  themselves  till  something  should  amuse  them.  Among 
this  strangely  mingled  party  were  some  men  with  whom 
Lucien  had  had  transactions,  combining  ostensibly  kind  offices 
with  covert  false  dealing. 

"  Hallo !  Lucien,  my  boy,  why  here  we  are  patched  up 
again — new  stuffing  and  a  new  cover.  Where  have  we  come 
from  ?  Have  we  mounted  the  high  horse  once  more  with  the 
little  offerings  that  we  sent  from  Florine's  boudoir?  Bravo, 
old  boy!  "  and  Blondet  released  Finot  to  put  his  arm  affec- 
tionately round  Lucien  and  press  him  to  his  heart. 

Andoche  Finot  was  the  proprietor  of  a  review  on  which 
Lucien  had  worked  for  almost  nothing,  and  to  which  Blondet 
gave  the  benefit  of  his  collaboration,  of  the  wisdom  of  his 
suggestions  and  the  depth  of  his  views.  Finot  and  Blondet 
embodied  Bertrand  and  Raton,  with  this  difference — that 
while  La  Fontaine's  cat  at  last  showed  that  he  knew  himself 
to  be  duped,  Blondet,  though  he  knew  that  he  was  being 
fleeced,  still  did  all  he  could  for  Finot.  This  brilliant  free- 
lance of  the  pen  was,  in  fact,  long  to  remain  a  slave.  Finot 
hid  a  brutal  strength  of  will  under  a  heavy  exterior,  under 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  9 

the  drowsiness  of  impertinent  stupidity,  rubbed  with  a  super- 
ficial polish  of  wit,  as  a  laborer  rubs  his  bread  with  garlic. 
He  knew  how  to  garner  what  he  gleaned,  ideas  and  crown- 
pieces  alike,  in  the  fields  of  the  dissolute  life  led  by  men 
engaged  in  letters  or  in  politics. 

Blondet,  for  his  sins,  had  placed  his  powers  at  the  service 
of  Finot's  vices  and  idleness.  Always  at  war  with  necessity, 
he  was  one  of  the  race  of  poverty-stricken  and  superior  men 
who  can  do  everything  for  the  fortune  of  others  and  nothing 
for  their  own,  Aladdins  who  let  other  men  borrow  their  lamp. 
These  excellent  advisers  have  a  clear  and  penetrating  judg- 
ment so  long  as  it  is  not  distracted  by  personal  interest.  In 
them  it  is  the  head  and  not  the  arm  that  acts.  Hence  the 
looseness  of  their  morality,  and  the  reproach  heaped  upon 
them  by  inferior  minds.  Blondet  would  share  his  purse  with 
a  comrade  he  had  affronted  the  day  before  ;  he  would  dine, 
drink,  and  sleep  with  one  whom  he  would  demolish  on  the 
morrow.  His  amusing  paradoxes  excused  everything.  Ac- 
cepting the  whole  world  as  a  jest,  he  did  not  want  to  be  taken 
seriously;  young,  beloved,  almost  famous  and  contented,  he 
did  not  devote  himself,  like  Finot,  to  acquiring  the  fortune 
an  old  man  needs. 

The  most  difficult  form  of  courage,  perhaps,  is  that  which 
Lucien  needed  at  this  moment  to  get  rid  of  Blondet  as  he  had 
iust  got  rid  of  Madame  d'Espard  and  ChStelet.  In  him,  un- 
fortunately, the  joys  of  vanity  hindered  the  exercise  of  pride 
— the  basis,  beyond  doubt,  of  many  great  things.  His  vanity 
had  triumphed  in  the  previous  encounter ;  he  had  shown  him- 
self as  a  rich  man,  happy  and  scornful,  to  two  persons  who 
had  scorned  him  when  he  was  poor  and  wretched.  But  how 
could  a  poet,  like  an  old  diplomate,  run  the  gantlet  with  two 
self-styled  friends,  who  had  welcomed  him  in  misery,  under 
whose  roof  he  had  slept  in  the  worst  of  his  troubles  ?  Finot, 
Blondet,  and  he  had  groveled  together ;  they  had  wallowed 
in  such  orgies  as  consume  something  more  than  money.  Like 


10  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

soldiers  who  find  no  market  for  their  courage,  Lucien  had  just 
done  what  many  men  do  in  Paris :  he  had  still  further  com- 
promised his  character  by  shaking  Finot's  hand,  and  not  re- 
jecting Blondet's  caress. 

Every  man  who  has  dabbled,  or  still  dabbles,  in  journalism 
is  under  the  painful  necessity  of  bowing  to  men  he  despises, 
of  smiling  at  his  dearest  foe,  of  compounding  the  foulest 
meanness,  of  soiling  his  ringers  to  pay  his  aggressors  in  their 
own  coin.  He  becomes  used  to  seeing  evil  done,  and  passing 
it  over ;  he  begins  by  condoning  it,  and  ends  by  committing 
it.  In  the  long  run  the  soul,  constantly  stained  by  shameful 
and  perpetual  compromise,  sinks  lower,  the  spring  of  noble 
thoughts  grows  rusty,  the  hinges  of  familiarity  wear  easy,  and 
turn  of  their  own  accord.  Alceste  becomes  Philinte,  natures 
lose  their  firmness,  talents  are  perverted,  faith  in  great  deeds 
evaporates.  The  man  who  yearned  to  be  proud  of  his  work 
wastes  himself  in  rubbishy  articles  which  his  conscience  re- 
gards, sooner  or  later,  as  so  many  evil  actions.  He  started, 
like  Lousteau  or  Vernou,  to  be  a  great  writer ;  he  finds  him- 
self a  feeble  scrivener.  Hence  it  is  impossible  to  honor  too 
highly  men  whose  character  stands  as  high  as  their  talent — 
men  like  d'Arthez,  who  know  how  to  walk  sure-footed  across 
the  reefs  and  rocks  of  literary  life. 

Lucien  could  make  no  reply  to  Blondet's  flattery ;  his  easy 
wit  had  an  irresistible  charm  for  him,  and  he  maintained  the 
hold  of  the  corrupter  over  his  pupil ;  beside,  he  held  a  posi- 
tion in  the  world  through  his  intimacy  with  the  Comtesse  de 
Montcornet. 

"Has  an  uncle  left  you  a  fortune?  "  said  Finot,  laughing 
at  him. 

"Like  you,  I  have  marked  some  fools  for  cutting  down," 
replied  Lucien  in  the  same  tone. 

"  Then  monsieur  has  set  up  a  review — a  newspaper  of  his 
own?"  Andoche  Finot  retorted,  with  the  impertinent  blus- 
tering of  a  chief  to  a  subordinate. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  11 

"I  have  something  better,"  replied  Lucien,  whose  vanity, 
nettled  by  the  assumed  superiority  of  his  editor,  restored  him 
to  the  sense  of  his  new  position. 

"  What  is  that,  my  dear  boy  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  party." 

"  There  is  a  Lucien  party  ?  "  said  Vernou,  smiling. 

"  Finot,  the  boy  has  left  you  in  the  lurch ;  I  told  you  he 
would.  Lucien  is  a  clever  fellow,  and  you  never  were  respect- 
ful to  him.  You  used  him  as  a  hack.  Repent,  fat  block- 
head !  "  said  Blondet. 

Blondet,  as  sharp  as  a  needle,  could  detect  more  than  one 
secret  in  Lucien's  air  and  manner;  while  stroking  him  down, 
he  contrived  to  tighten  the  curb.  He  meant  to  know  the 
reasons  of  Lucien's  return  to  Paris,  his  projects,  and  his 
means  of  living. 

"On  your  knees  to  a  superiority,  to  which  you  can  never 
attain,  albeit  you  are  Finot!"  he  went  on.  "Admit  this 
gentleman  forthwith  to  be  one  of  the  great  men  to  whom  the 
future  belongs  ;  he  is  one  of  us  !  So  witty  and  so  handsome, 
can  he  fail  to  succeed  by  your  quibuscumquc  viis  ?  Here  he 
stands,  in  his  good  Milan  armor,  his  strong  sword  half 
unsheathed,  and  his  pennon  flying  !  Bless  me,  Lucien,  where 
did  you  steal  that  smart  vest  ?  Love  alone  can  find  such  stuff 
as  that.  Have  you  an  address  ?  At  this  moment  I  am  anxious 
to  know  where  my  friends  are  domiciled  ;  I  don't  know  where 
to  sleep.  Finot  has  turned  me  out  of  doors  for  the  night,  under 
the  vulgar  pretext  of  'a  lady  in  the  case.' ' 

"  My  boy,"  said  Lucien,  "  I  put  into  practice  a  motto  by 
which  you  may  secure  a  quiet  life :  fugf,  late,  face.  I  am 
off.'"' 

"  But  I  am  not  off  till  you  pay  me  a  sacred  debt — that  little 
supper,  you  know,  eh?"  said  Blondet,  who  was  rather  too 
much  given  to  good  cheer,  and  got  himself  treated  when  he 
was  out  of  funds. 

NOTE  :  "A  Distinguished  Provincial  at  Paris  "  is  antecedent  to  this. 


12  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"What  supper?"  asked  Lucien,  with  a  little  stamp  of 
impatience. 

"You  don't  remember?  In  that  I  recognize  my  pros- 
perous friend;  he  has  lost  his  memory." 

"  He  knows  what  he  owes  us;  I  will  go  bail  for  his  good 
heart,"  said  Finot,  taking  up  Blondet's  joke. 

"  Rastignac,"  said  Blondet,  taking  rhe  young  dandy  by  the 
arm  as  he  came  up  the  room  to  the  column  where  the  so-called 
friends  were  standing.  "  There  is  a  supper  in  the  wind  ;  you 
will  join  us — unless,"  he  added  gravely,  turning  to  Lucien, 
"  Monsieur  persists  in  ignoring  a  debt  of  honor.  He  may." 

"Monsieur  de  Rubempre  is  incapable  of  such  a  thing;  I 
will  answer  for  him,"  said  Rastignac,  who  never  dreamed  of 
a  practical  joke. 

"And  here  is  Bixiou,  he  will  come  too,"  cried  Blondet; 
"there  is  no  fun  without  him.  Without  him  champagne 
cloys  my  tongue,  and  I  find  everything  insipid,  even  the 
pepper  of  satire." 

"  My  friends,"  said  Bixiou,  "  I  see  you  have  gathered  round 
the  wonder  of  the  day.  Our  dear  Lucien  has  revived  the 
Metamorphoses  of  Ovid.  Just  as  the  gods  used  to  turn  into 
strange  vegetables  and  other  things  to  seduce  the  ladies,  he 
has  turned  the  Chardon  (the  Thistle)  into  a  gentleman  to 
bewitch — whom?  Charles  X.  !  My  dear  boy,"  he  went  on, 
holding  Lucien  by  his  coat  button,  "a  journalist  who  apes 
the  fine  gentleman  deserves  rough  music.  In  their  place," 
said  the  merciless  jester,  as  he  pointed  to  Finot  and  Vernou  : 
"  I  should  cut  you  up  in  my  society  paper ;  you  would 
supply  them  with  columns  of  jokes  to  turn  in  thousands  of 
francs." 

"Bixiou,"  said  Blondet,  "an  Amphitryon  is  sacred  for 
twenty-four  hours  before  the  feast  and  twelve  hours  after. 
Our  illustrious  friend  is  giving  us  a  supper." 

"What  then!"  cried  Bixiou;  "what  is  more  imperative 
than  the  duty  of  saving  a  great  name  from  oblivion,  of  en- 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  13 

dowing  the  indigent  aristocracy  with  a  man  of  talent  ?  Lu- 
cien,  you  enjoy  the  esteem  of  the  press  of  which  you  were  a 
distinguished  ornament,  and  we  will  give  you  our  support. 
Finot,  a  paragraph  in  the  '  latest  items  !  '  Blondet,  a  little 
butter  on  the  fourth  page  of  your  paper  !  We  must  advertise 
the  appearance  of  the  finest  book  of  the  age,  T Archer  de 
Charles  IX.  ! '  We  will  appeal  to  Dauriat  to  bring  out  as  soon 
as  possible  '  les  Marguerites,'  those  divine  sonnets  of  our 
French  Petrarch  !  We  must  carry  our  friend  through  on  the 
shield  of  stamped  paper  by  which  reputations  are  made  and 
unmade." 

"If  you  want  a  supper,"  said  Lucien  to  Blondet,  hoping  to 
rid  himself  of  this  mob,  which  threatened  to  increase,  "  it 
seems  to  me  that  you  need  not  work  up  hyperbole  and  parable 
to  attack  an  old  friend  as  if  he  were  a  booby.  To-morrow 

night  at  Lointier's "  he  cried,  seeing  a  masked  woman 

come  by,  whom  he  sprang  to  meet. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  "  said  Bixiou  on  three  notes,  with  a  mock- 
ing glance,  and  seeming  to  recognize  the  mask  to  whom  Lu- 
cien addressed  himself.  "  This  needs  investigating." 

He  followed  the  handsome  pair,  got  past  them,  examined 
them  keenly,  and  came  back,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  all 
the  envious  crowd,  who  were  eager  to  learn  the  source  of 
Lucien's  change  of  fortune. 

"  Friends,"  said  Bixiou,  "  you  have  long  known  the  god- 
dess of  the  Sieur  de  Rubempre's  fortune  :  She  is  des  Lupeaulx's 
former  rat." 

A  form  of  dissipation,  now  forgotten,  but  still  customary  at 
the  beginning  of  this  century,  was  the  keeping  of  rats.  The 
"rat" — a  slang  word  that  has  become  old-fashioned — was  a 
girl  of  ten  or  twelve  in  the  chorus  of  some  theatre,  more  par- 
ticularly at  the  opera,  who  was  trained  by  young  roues  to  vice 
and  infamy.  A  "  rat "  was  a  sort  of  demon  page,  a  tomboy 
who  was  forgiven  a  trick  if  it  were  but  funny.  The  rat  might 
take  what  she  pleased  ;  she  was  to  be  watched  like  a  dangerous 


14  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

animal,  and  she  brought  an  element  of  liveliness  into  life,  like 
Scapin,  Sganarelle,  and  Frontin  in  old-fashioned  comedy. 
But  a  rat  was  too  expensive ;  it  made  no  return  in  honor, 
profit,  or  pleasure ;  the  fashion  of  rats  so  completely  went  out 
that  in  these  days  few  people  know  anything  of  this  detail  of 
fashionable  life  before  the  Restoration  till  certain  writers  took 
up  the  rat  as  a  new  subject. 

"  What !  after  having  seen  Coralie  killed  under  him,  Lucien 
means  to  rob  us  of  La  Torpille?"  (the  torpedo  fish)  said 
Blondet. 

As  he  heard  the  name  the  brawny  mask  gave  a  significant 
start,  which,  though  repressed,  was  understood  by  Rastignac. 

"  It  is  out  of  the  question,"  replied  Finot ;  "  La  Torpille 
has  not  a  sou  to  give  away ;  Nathan  tells  me  she  borrowed  a 
thousand  francs  of  Florine." 

"  Come,  gentlemen,  gentlemen  !  "  said  Rastignac,  anxious 
to  defend  Lucien  against  so  odious  an  imputation. 

"Well,"  cried  Vernou,  "is  Coralie's  kept  man  likely  to 
be  so  very  particular  ? ' ' 

"Oh!"  replied  Bixiou,  "those  thousand  francs  prove  to 
me  that  our  friend  Lucien  lives  with  La  Torpille " 

"  What  an  irreparable  loss  to  literature,  science,  art,  and 
politics  !  "  exclaimed  Blondet.  "  La  Torpille  is  the  only 
common  prostitute  in  whom  I  ever  found  the  stuff  for  a  supe- 
rior courtesan  ;  she  has  not  been  spoiled  by  education — al- 
though she  can  neither  read  nor  write,  she  would  have  under- 
stood us.  We  might  have  given  to  our  era  one  of  those 
magnificent  Aspasias  without  which  there  can  be  no  golden 
age.  See  how  admirably  Madame  du  Barry  was  suited  to  the 
eighteenth  century,  Ninon  de  1'Enclos  to  the  seventeenth, 
Marion  Delorme  to  the  sixteenth,  Imperia*  to  the  fifteenth, 
Flora  to  Republican  Rome,  which  she  made  her  heir,  and 
which  paid  off  the  public  debt  with  her  fortune  !  What  would 
Horace  be  without  Lydia,  Tibullus  without  Delia,  Catullus 
*  See  "  Droll  Stories." 


THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  15 

without  Lesbia,  Propertius  without  Cynthia,  Demetrius  with- 
out Lamia,  who  is  his  glory  at  this  day  ?  " 

"  Blondet  talking  of  Demetrius  in  the  opera-house  seems  to 
me  rather  too  strong  of  the  'Debats,'"  said  Bixiou  in  his 
neighbor's  ear. 

"And  where  would  the  empire  of  the  Caesars  have  been  but 
for  these  queens?"  Blondet  went  on;  "  La'is  and  Rhodope 
are  Greece  and  Egypt.  They  are  all  indeed  the  poetry  of 
the  ages  in  which  they  lived.  This  poetry,  which  Napoleon 
lacked — for  the  Widow  of  his  Great  Army  is  a  barrack  jest — 
was  not  wanting  to  the  Revolution  ;  it  had  Madame  Tallien  ! 
In  these  days  there  is  certainly  a  throne  to  let  in  France 
which  is  for  her  who  can  fill  it.  We  among  us  could  make  a 
queen.  I  should  have  given  La  Torpille  an  aunt,  for  her 
mother  is  too  decidedly  dead  on  the  field  of  dishonor;  du 
Tillet  would  have  given  her  a  mansion,  Lousteau  a  carriage, 
Rastignac  her  footmen,  des  Lupeaulx  a  cook,  Finot  her — 
hats" — Finot  could  not  suppress  a  wince  at  standing  the 
point-blank  fire  of  this  epigram — "  Vernou  would  have  puffed 
her,  and  Bixiou  given  her  repartees  !  The  aristocracy  would 
have  come  to  enjoy  themselves  with  our  Ninon,  where  we 
would  have  got  artists  together,  under  pain  of  death  by  news- 
paper articles.  Ninon  the  second  would  have  been  magnifi- 
cently impertinent,  overwhelming  in  luxury.  She  would  have 
set  up  opinions.  Some  prohibited  dramatic  masterpiece  should 
have  been  read  in  her  drawing-room ;  it  should  have  been 
written  on  purpose  if  necessary.  She  would  not  have  been 
liberal ;  a  courtesan  is  essentially  monarchical.  Oh  what  a 
loss !  She  ought  to  have  embraced  her  whole  century,  and 
she  makes  love  with  a  little  young  man  !  Lucien  will  make  a 
sort  of  hunting-dog  of  her." 

"  None  of  the  female  powers  of  whom  you  speak  ever 
trudged  the  streets,"  said  Finot,  "and  that  pretty  little  rat 
has  rolled  in  the  mire." 

"Like  a  lily-seed  in  the  soil,"  replied  Vernou,  "and  she 


16  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

has  improved  in  it  and  flowered.  Hence  her  superiority. 
Must  we  not  have  known  everything  to  be  able  to  create  the 
laughter  and  joy  which  are  part  of  everything?" 

"He  is  right,"  said  Lousteau,  who  had  hitherto  listened 
without  speaking;  "La  Torpille  can  laugh  and  make  others 
laugh.  That  gift  of  all  great  writers  and  great  actors  is  proper 
to  those  who  have  investigated  every  social  deep.  At  eighteen 
that  girl  has  already  known  the  greatest  wealth,  the  most 
squalid  misery — men  of  every  degree.  She  bears  about  her  a. 
sort  of  magic  wand  by  which  she  lets  loose  the  brutal  appetites 
so  vehemently  suppressed  in  men  who  still  have  a  heart  while 
occupied  with  politics  or  science,  literature  or  art.  There  is 
not  in  Paris  another  woman  who  can  say  to  the  beast  as  she 
does :  '  Come  out !  '  And  the  beast  leaves  his  lair  and  wallows 
in  excesses.  She  feeds  you  up  to  the  chin,  she  helps  you  to 
drink  and  smoke.  In  short,  this  woman  is  the  salt  of  which 
Rabelais  writes,  which,  thrown  on  matter,  animates  it  and 
elevates  it  to  the  marvelous  realms  of  art;  her  robe  displays 
unimagined  splendor,  her  fingers  drop  gems  as  her  lips  shed 
smiles ;  she  gives  the  spirit  of  the  occasion  to  every  little 
thing ;  her  chatter  twinkles  with  bright  sayings,  she  has  the 
secret  of  the  quaintest  onomatopoeia,*  full  of  color,  and  giving 
color;  she " 

"  You  are  wasting  five  francs'  worth  of  copy,"  said  Bixiou, 
interrupting  Lousteau.  "  La  Torpille  is  something  far  better 
than  all  that ;  you  have  all  been  in  love  with  her  more  or  less, 
not  one  of  you  can  say  that  she  ever  was  his  mistress.  She 
can  always  command  you ;  you  will  never  command  her. 
You  may  force  your  way  in  and  ask  her  to  do  you  a  service 
but " 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,  she   is   more  generous  than    a   brigand 

chief  who  knows  his  business,  and  more  devoted  than  the  best 

of  school-fellows,"  said  Blondet.     "You-  may  trust  her  with 

your  purse  or  your  secrets.     But  what  made  me  choose  her 

*  In  France  improperly  applied  to  the  making  of  nicknames. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  17 

as  queen  is  her  Bourbon-like  indifference  for  a  fallen  fa- 
vorite." 

"She,  like  her  mother,  is  much  too  dear,"  said  des  Lu- 
peaulx.  "The  handsome  Dutchwoman*  would  have  swal- 
lowed up  the  income  of  the  Archbishop  of  Toledo ;  she  ate 
two  notaries  out  of  house  and  home " 

"And  kept  Maxime  de  Trailles  when  he  was  a  Court  page," 
said  Bixiou. 

"La  Torpille  is  too  dear,  as  Raphael  was,  or  Cardme,  or 
Taglioni,  or  Lawrence,  or  Boule,  or  as  any  artist  of  genius  is 
too  dear,"  said  Blondet. 

"But  Esther  never  looked  so  thoroughly  a  lady  as  that," 
said  Rastignac,  pointing  to  the  masked  figure  to  whom  Lucien 
had  given  his  arm.  "  I  will  bet  on  its  being  Madame  de 
Serizy." 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  cried  du  Chalelet,  "and  Monsieur  de 
Rubempre's  fortune  is  accounted  for." 

"Ah,  the  church  knows  how  to  choose  its  Levites ;  what  a 
sweet  ambassador's  secretary  he  will  make  !  "  sneered  des  Lu- 
peaulx. 

"All  the  more  so,"  Rastignac  went  on,  "because  Lucien  is 
a  really  clever  fellow.  These  gentlemen  have  had  proof  of  it 
more  than  once,"  and  he  turned  to  Blondet,  Finot,  and 
Lousteau. 

"Yes,  the  boy  is  cut  out  of  the  right  stuff  to  get  on,"  said 
Lousteau,  who  was  dying  of  jealousy.  "And  particularly  be- 
cause he  has  what  we  call  independent  ideas " 

"  It  is  you  who  trained  him,"  said  Vernou. 

"  Well,"  replied  Bixiou,  looking  at  des  Lupeaulx,  "  I  trust 
to  the  memory  of  monsieur  the  secretary-general  and  master 
of  appeals — that  mask  is  La  Torpille,  and  I  will  stand  a  supper 
on  it." 

"I  take  the  bet,"  said  du  Ch^telet,  curious  to  know  the 
truth. 

*  Sarah  van  Gobseck  in  "  C6sar  Birotteau,"  etc. 
2 


18  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS, 

"  Come,  des  Lupeaulx,"  said  Finot,  "try  to  identify  your 
rat's  ears." 

"There  is  no  need  for  committing  the  crime  of  treason 
against  a  mask"  (lese-masque),  replied  Bixiou.  "La  Tor- 
pille  and  Lucien  must  pass  us  as  they  go  up  the  room  again, 
and  I  pledge  myself  to  prove  that  it  is  she." 

"So  our  friend  Lucien  has  come  above  water  once  more," 
said  Nathan,  joining  the  group.  "  I  thought  he  had  gone 
back  to  Angoumois  for  the  rest  of  his  days.  Has  he  discov- 
ered some  secret  to  ruin  the  English  ?  " 

"  He  has  done  what  you  will  not  do  in  a  hurry,"  retorted 
Rastignac  ;  "  he  has  paid  his  debts." 

The  burly  mask  nodded  in  confirmation. 

"A  man  who  has  sown  his  wild  oats  at  his  age  puts  himself 
out  of  court.  He  has  no  pluck;  he  puts  money  in  the 
Funds,"  replied  Nathan. 

"Oh,  that  youngster  will  always  be  a  fine  gentleman,  and 
will  always  have  such  lofty  notions  as  will  place  him  far 
above  many  men  who  think  themselves  his  betters,"  replied 
Rastignac. 

At  this  moment  journalists,  dandies,  and  idlers  were  all 
examining  the  charming  subject  of  their  bet  as  horse-dealers 
examine  a  horse  for  sale.  These  connoisseurs,  grown  old  in 
familiarity  with  every  form  of  Parisian  depravity,  all  men  of 
superior  talent  each  in  his  own  way,  equally  corrupt,  equally 
corrupting,  all  given  over  to  unbridled  ambition,  accustomed 
to  assume  and  to  guess  everything,  had  their  eyes  centred  on 
a  masked  woman,  a  woman  whom  no  one  else  could  identify. 
They,  and  certain  habitual  frequenters  of  the  opera-balls,  could 
alone  recognize  under  the  long  shroud  of  the  black  domino  the 
hood  and  falling  ruff  which  make  the  wearer  unrecognizable, 
the  rounded  form,  the  individuality  of  figure  and  gait,  the 
sway  of  the  body,  the  carriage  of  the  heaji — the  most  intan- 
gible trifles  to  ordinary  eyes,  but  to  them  the  easiest  to 
discern. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  19 

In  spite  of  this  shapeless  wrapper  they  could  watch  the  most 
appealing  of  dramas,  that  of  a  woman  inspired  by  a  genuine 
passion.  Were  she  La  Torpille,  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrig- 
neuse,  or  Madame  de  Serizy,  on  the  lowest  or  highest  rung  of 
the  social  ladder,  this  woman  was  an  exquisite  creature,  a 
flash  from  happy  dreams.  These  old  young  men,  like  these 
young  old  men,  felt  so  keen  an  emotion,  that  they  envied 
Lucien  the  splendid  privilege  of  working  such  a  metamor- 
phosis of  a  woman  into  a  goddess.  The  mask  was  there  as 
though  she  had  been  alone  with  Lucien;  for  that  woman  the 
thousand  other  persons  did  not  exist,  nor  the  evil  and  dust- 
laden  atmosphere;  no,  she  moved  under  the  celestial  vault 
of  love,  as  Raphael's  Madonnas  under  their  slender  oval  glory. 
She  did  not  feel  herself  elbowed  ;  the  fire  of  her  glance  shot 
from  the  holes  of  her  mask  and  sank  into  Lucien's  eyes ;  the 
thrill  of  her  frame  seemed  to  answer  to  every  movement  of 
her  companion.  Whence  comes  this  flame  that  radiates  from 
a  woman  in  love  and  distinguishes  her  above  all  others  ? 
Whence  that  sylph-like  lightness  which  seems  to  negative  the 
laws  of  gravitation  ?  Is  the  soul  become  ambient  ?  Has 
happiness  a  physical  effluence? 

The  ingenuousness  of  a  girl,  the  graces  of  a  child  were  dis- 
cernible under  the  domino.  Though  they  walked  apart,  these 
two  beings  suggested  the  figures  of  Flora  and  Zephyr  as  we  see 
them  grouped  by  the  cleverest  sculptors ;  but  they  were  be- 
yond sculpture,  the  greatest  of  the  arts ;  Lucien  and  his  pretty 
domino  were  more  like  the  angels  busied  with  flowers  or  birds, 
which  Gian-Bellini  has  placed  beneath  the  effigies  of  the 
Virgin  Mother.  Lucien  and  this  girl  belonged  to  the  realm 
of  fancy,  which  is  as  far  above  art  as  cause  is  higher  than 
effect. 

When  the  domino,  forgetful  of  everything,  was  within  a 
yard  of  the  group,  Bixiou  exclaimed — 

"Esther!" 

The  unhappy  girl  turned  her  head  quickly  as  hearing  herself 


20  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

called,  recognized  the  mischievous  speaker,  and  bowed  her 
head  like  a  dying  creature  that  has  drawn  its  last  breath. 

A  jarring  laugh  followed,  and  the  group  of  men  melted 
among  the  crowd  like  a  knot  of  frightened  field-mice  whisking 
into  their  holes  by  the  roadside.  Rastignac  alone  went  no 
further  than  was  necessary,  just  to  avoid  making  any  show  of 
shunning  Lucien's  flashing  eye.  He  could  thus  note  two 
phases  of  distress  equally  deep  though  unconfessed  ;  first,  the 
hapless  Torpille,  stricken  as  by  a  lightning-stroke,  and  then 
the  inscrutable  mask,  the  only  one  of  the  group  who  had 
remained.  Esther  murmured  a  word  in  Lucien's  ear  just  as 
her  knees  gave  way,  and  Lucien,  supporting  her,  led  her  away. 

Rastignac  watched  the  pretty  pair,  lost  in  meditation. 

"How  did  she  get  her  name  of  La  Torpille?"  asked  a 
gloomy  voice  that  struck  to  his  vitals,  for  it  was  no  longer 
disguised. 

"It  is  indeed  he — he  has  made  his  escape!"  muttered 
Rastignac  to  himself. 

"Be  silent  or  I  murder  you,"  replied  the  mask,  changing 
his  voice.  "  I  am  satisfied  with  you,  you  have  kept  your 
word,  and  there  is  more  than  one  arm  ready  to  serve  you. 
Henceforth  be  as  silent  as  the  grave ;  but,  before  that,  answer 
my  question." 

"Well,  the  girl  is  such  a  witch  that  she  could  have  magnet- 
ized the  Emperor  Napoleon  ;  she  could  galvanize  a  man  more 
difficult  to  influence — you  yourself,"  replied  Rastignac,  and 
he  turned  to  go. 

"  One  moment,"  said  the  mask ;  "I  will  prove  to  you  that 
you  have  never  seen  me  anywhere." 

The  speaker  removed  his  mask ;  for  a  moment  Rastignac 
hesitated,  recognizing  nothing  of  the  hideous  being  he  had 
known  formerly  at  Madame  Vauquer's. 

"  The  devil  has  enabled  you  to  change  in  every  particular, 
excepting  your  eyes,  which  it  is  impossible  to  forget,"  said 
he. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  21 

The  iron  hand  gripped  his  arm  to  enjoin  eternal  secrecy. 

At  three  in  the  morning  des  Lupeaulx  and  Finot  found  the 
elegant  Rastignac  on  the  same  spot,  leaning  against  the 
column  where  the  terrible  mask  had  left  him.  Rastignac  had 
confessed  to  himself;  he  had  been  at  once  priest  and  penitent, 
culprit  and  judge.  He  allowed  himself  to  be  led  away  to 
breakfast,  and  reached  home  perfectly  tipsy,  but  taciturn. 

The  Rue  de  Langlade  and  the  adjacent  streets  are  a  blot  on 
the  Palais  Royal  and  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  This  portion  of  one 
of  the  handsomest  quarters  of  Paris  will  long  retain  the  stain 
of  foulness  left  by  the  hillocks  formed  of  the  middens  of  old 
Paris,  on  which  windmills  formerly  stood.  These  narrow 
streets,  dark  and  muddy,  where  such  industries  are  carried  on 
as  care  little  for  appearances,  wear  at  night  an  aspect  of 
mystery  full  of  contrasts.  On  coming  from  the  well-lighted 
regions  of  the  Rue  Saint-Honore,  the  Rue  Neuve-des-Petits- 
Champs,  and  the  Rue  de  Richelieu,  where  the  crowd  is  con- 
stantly pushing,  where  glitter  the  masterpieces  of  industry, 
fashion  and  art,  every  man  to  whom  Paris  by  night  is  un- 
known would  feel  a  sense  of  dread  and  melancholy,  on  find- 
ing himself  in  the  labyrinth  of  little  streets  which  lie  round 
that  blaze  of  light  reflected  even  from  the  sky.  Dense  black- 
ness is  here,  instead  of  floods  of  gaslight;  a  dim  oil-lamp 
here  and  there  sheds  its  doubtful  and  smoky  gleam,  and  many 
blind  alleys  are  not  lighted  at  all.  Foot  passengers  are  few, 
and  walk  fast.  The  stores  are  closed,  the  few  that  are  open 
are  of  a  squalid  kind  ;  a  dirty,  unlighted  wineshop,  or  a  seller 
of  underclothing  and  eau-de-Cologne.  An  unwholesome  chill 
lays  a  clammy  cloak  over  your  shoulders.  Few  carriages  drive 
past.  There  are  sinister  places  here,  especially  the  Rue  de 
Langlade,  the  entrance  to  the  Passage  Saint-Guillaume,  and 
the  turnings  of  some  streets. 

The  municipal  council  has  not  yet  been  able  to  purge  this 
vast  plague-spot,  for  prostitution  long  since  made  it  its  head- 


22  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

quarters.  It  is,  perhaps,  a  good  thing  for  Paris  that  these 
alleys  should  be  allowed  to  preserve  their  filthy  aspect.  Pass- 
ing through  them  by  day,  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  what 
they  become  by  night ;  they  are  pervaded  by  strange  creatures 
of  no  known  world ;  white,  half-naked  forms  cling  to  the 
walls — the  darkness  is  alive.  Between  the  passenger  and  the 
wall  a  dress  steals  by — a  dress  that  moves  and  speaks.  Half- 
open  doors  suddenly  shout  with  laughter.  Words  fall  on  the 
ear  such  as  Rabelais  speaks  of  as  frozen  and  melting.  Snatches 
of  songs  come  up  from  the  pavement.  The  noise  is  not  vague ; 
it  means  something.  When  it  is  hoarse  it  is  a  voice  ;  but  if 
it  suggests  a  song,  there  is  nothing  human  about  it,  it  is  more 
like  a  croak.  Often  you  hear  a  sharp  whistle,  and  then  the 
tap  of  boot-heels  has  a  peculiarly  aggressive  and  mocking 
ring.  This  medley  of  things  makes  you  giddy.  Atmospheric 
conditions  are  reversed  there — it  is  warm  in  winter  and  cool 
in  summer. 

Still,  whatever  the  weather,  this  strange  world  always  wears 
the  same  aspect ;  it  is  the  fantastic  world  of  Hoffmann.  The 
most  mathematical  of  clerks  never  thinks  of  it  as  real,  after 
returning  through  the  straits  that  lead  into  decent  streets, 
where  there  are  passengers,  lamps,  stores,  and  taverns. 
Modern  administration,  or  modern  policy,  more  scornful  or 
more  shamefaced  than  the  queens  and  kings  of  past  ages,  no 
longer  dare  look  boldly  in  the  face  of  this  plague  of  our 
capitals.  Measures,  of  course,  must  change  with  the  times, 
and  such  as  bear  on  individuals  and  on  their  liberty  are  a 
ticklish  matter ;  still,  we  ought,  perhaps,  to  show  some  breadth 
and  boldness  as  to  merely  material  measures — air,  light,  and 
construction.  The  moralist,  the  artist,  and  the  sage  adminis- 
trator alike  must  regret  the  old  wooden  galleries  of  the  Palais 
Royal,  where  the  lambs  were  penned  who  will  always  be 
found  where  there  are  loungers ;  and  is  it  not  best  that  the 
loungers  should  go  where  they  are  to  be  found  ?  What  is  the 
consequence?  The  gayest  parts  of  the  boulevards,  most 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  23 

delightful  of  promenades,  are  impossible  in  the  evening  for  a 
family  party.  The  police  has  failed  to  take  advantage  of 
the  outlet  afforded  by  some  small  streets  to  purge  the  main 
street. 

The  girl  whom  we  have  seen  crushed  by  a  word  at  the 
opera-ball  had  been  for  the  last  month  or  two  living  in  the 
Rue  de  Langlade,  in  a  very  poor-looking  house.  This  struc- 
ture, stuck  on  to  the  wall  of  an  enormously  large  one,  badly 
stuccoed,  of  no  depth,  and  immensely  high,  has  all  its  win- 
dows on  the  street,  and  bears  some  resemblance  to  a  parrot's 
perch.  On  each  floor  are  two  rooms,  let  as  separate  flats. 
There  is  a  narrow  staircase  clinging  to  the  wall,  queerly 
lighted  by  windows  which  mark  its  ascent  on  the  outer  wall, 
each  landing  being  indicated  by  a  sink,  one  of  the  most 
odious  peculiarities  of  Paris.  The  store  and  entresol  at  that 
time  were  tenanted  by  a  tinsmith ;  the  landlord  occupied  the 
second  floor;  the  four  upper  stories  were  rented  by  very 
decent  working-girls,  who  were  treated  by  the  portress  and  the 
proprietor  with  some  consideration  and  an  obligingness  called 
forth  by  the  difficulty  of  letting  a  house  so  oddly  constructed 
and  situated.  The  occupants  of  the  quarter  are  accounted 
for  by  the  existence  there  of  many  houses  of  the  same 
character,  for  which  trade  has  no  use,  and  which  can  only  be 
rented  by  the  poorer  kinds  of  industry,  of  a  precarious  or 
ignominious  nature. 

At  three  in  the  afternoon  the  portress,  who  had  seen  Made- 
moiselle Esther  brought  home  half-dead  by  a  young  man  at 
two  in  the  morning,  had  just  held  council  with  the  young 
woman  of  the. floor  above,  who,  before  setting  out  in  a  cab  to 
join  some  party  of  pleasure,  had  expressed  her  uneasiness 
about  Esther;  she  had  not  heard  her  move.  Esther  was, 
no  doubt,  still  asleep,  but  this  slumber  seemed  suspicious. 
The  portress,  alone  in  her  cell,  was  regretting  that  she  could  not 
go  to  see  what  was  happening  on  the  fifth  floor,  where  Made- 
moiselle Esther  lodged. 


24  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Just  as  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  leave  the  tinsmith's 
son  in  charge  of  her  room,  a  sort  of  den  in  a  recess  on  the 
entresol  floor,  a  cab  stopped  at  the  door.  A  man  stepped  out, 
wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  a  cloak  evidently  intended  to  con- 
ceal his  dress  or  his  rank  in  life,  and  asked  for  Mademoiselle 
Esther.  The  portress  at  once  felt  relieved;  this  accounted 
for  Esther's  silence  and  quietude.  As  the  stranger  mounted 
the  stairs  above  the  portress'  room,  she  noticed  silver  buckles 
in  his  shoes,  and  fancied  she  caught  sight  of  the  black  fringe  of 
a  priest's  sash;  she  went  downstairs  and  catechised  the  driver, 
who  answered  without  speech,  but  the  woman  understood. 

The  priest  knocked,  received  no  answer,  heard  a  slight  gasp, 
and  forced  the  door  open  with  a  thrust  of  his  shoulder; 
charity,  no  doubt,  lent  him  strength,  but  in  any  one  else  it 
would  have  been  ascribed  to  practice.  He  rushed  to  the 
inner  room,  and  there  found  poor  Esther  in  front  of  an  image 
of  the  Virgin  in  painted  plaster,  kneeling,  or  rather  doubled 
up,  on  the  floor,  her  hands  folded.  The  girl  was  dying.  A 
brasier  of  burnt  charcoal  told  the  tale  of  that  dreadful  morn- 
ing. The  domino  cloak  and  hood  were  lying  on  the  ground. 
The  bed  was  undisturbed.  The  unhappy  creature,  stricken 
to  the  heart  by  a  mortal  thrust,  had,  no  doubt,  made  all  her 
arrangements  on  her  return  from  the  opera.  A  candle-wick, 
collapsed  in  the  pool  of  greese  that  filled  the  candle-sconce, 
showed  how  completely  her  last  meditations  had  absorbed  her. 
A  handkerchief  soaked  with  tears  proved  the  sincerity  of  the 
Magdalen's  despair,  while  her  classic  attitude  was  that  of  the 
irreligious  courtesan.  This  abject  repentance  made  the  priest 
smile. 

Esther,  unskilled  in  dying,  had  left  the  door  open,  not 
thinking  that  the  air  of  two  rooms  would  need  a  larger  amount 
of  charcoal  to  make  it  suffocating;  she  was  only  stunned  by 
the  fumes ;  the  fresh  air  from  the  staircase  gradually  restored 
her  to  a  consciousness  of  her  woes. 

The  priest  remained  standing,  lost  in  gloomy  meditation, 


HE FOUND    POOR    ESTHER    IN     FRONT    OF    AN 

IMAGE    OF    THE     VIRGIN. 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  25 

without  being  touched  by  the  girl's  divine  beauty,  watching 
her  first  movements  as  if  she  had  been  some  animal.  His  eyes 
went  from  the  crouching  figure  to  the  surrounding  objects 
with  evident  indifference.  He  looked  at  the  furniture  in  the 
room;  the  paved  floor,  red,  polished,  and  cold,  was  poorly 
covered  with  a  shabby  carpet  worn  to  the  string.  A  little 
bedstead,  of  painted  wood  and  old-fashioned  shape,  was  hung 
with  yellow  calico  printed  with  red  stars ;  one  armchair  and 
two  small  chairs,  also  of  painted  wood,  and  covered  with  the 
same  cotton  print  of  which  the  window-curtains  were  also 
made  ;  a  gray  wall-paper  sprigged  with  flowers,  blackened  and 
greasy  with  age ;  a  fireplace  full  of  kitchen  utensils  of  the 
cheapest  kind,  two  bundles  of  fire-logs ;  a  stone  shelf,  on  which 
lay  some  jewelry,  false  and  real,  a  pair  of  scissors,  a  dirty  pin- 
cushion, and  some  white,  scented  gloves ;  an  exquisite  hat 
perched  on  the  water-jug,  a  Ternaux  shawl  stopping  a  hole  in 
the  window,  a  handsome  gown  hanging  from  a  nail ;  a  little 
hard  sofa,  with  no  cushions  ;  broken  clogs  and  dainty  slippers, 
shoes  that  a  queen  might  have  coveted  ;  cheap  china  plates, 
cracked  or  chipped,  with  fragments  of  a  past  meal,  and  nickel 
forks — the  plate  of  the  Paris  poor ;  a  basket  full  of  potatoes 
and  dirty  linen,  with  a  smart  gauze  cap  on  the  top ;  a  rickety 
wardrobe,  with  a  glass  door,  open  and  empty,  and  on  the 
shelves  sundry  pawntickets — this  was  the  medley  of  things, 
dismal  or  pleasing,  abject  and  handsome,  that  fell  on  his  eye. 
These  relics  of  splendor  among  the  potsherds,  these  house- 
hold belongings — so  appropriate  to  the  bohemian  existence  of 
the  girl  who  knelt  stricken  in  her  unbuttoned  garments,  like 
a  horse  dying  in  harness  under  the  broken  shafts  entangled  in 
the  reins — did  the  whole  strange  scene  suggest  any  thoughts 
to  the  priest  ?  Did  he  say  to  himself  that  this  erring  creature 
must  at  least  be  disinterested  to  live  in  such  poverty  when  her 
lover  was  young  and  rich?  Did  he  ascribe  the  disorder  of  the 
room  to  the  disorder  of  her  life  ?  Did  he  feel  pity  or  terror  ? 
Was  his  charity  moved  ? 


26  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

To  see  him,  his  arms  folded,  his  brow  dark,  his  lips  set, 
his  eye  harsh,  any  one  must  have  supposed  him  absorbed  in 
morose  feelings  of  hatred,  considerations  that  jostled  each 
other,  sinister  schemes.  He  was  certainly  insensible  to  the 
soft  roundness  of  a  bosom  almost  crushed  under  the  weight  of 
the  bowed  shoulders,  and  to  the  beautiful  modeling  of  the 
crouching  Venus  that  was  visible  under  the  black  petticoat, 
so  closely  was  the  dying  girl  curled  up.  The  drooping  head 
which,  seen  from  behind,  showed  the  white,  slender,  flexible 
neck  and  the  fine  shoulders  of  a  well-developed  figure,  did 
not  appeal  to  him.  He  did  not  raise  Esther,  he  did  not  seem 
to  hear  the  agonizing  gasps  which  showed  that  she  was  return- 
ing to  life  ;  a  fearful  sob  and  a  terrifying  glance  from  the  girl 
were  needed  before  he  condescended  to  lift  her,  and  he  car- 
ried her  to  the  bed  with  an  ease  that  revealed  enormous 
strength. 

"  Lucien  !  "  she  murmured. 

"Love  is  there,  the  woman  is  not  far  behind,"  said  the 
priest  with  some  bitterness. 

The  victim  of  Parisian  depravity  then  observed  the  dress 
worn  by  her  deliverer,  and  said,  with  a  smile  like  a  child's 
when  it  takes  possession  of  something  longed  for 

"Then  I  shall  not  die  without  being  reconciled  to  heaven?" 

"You  may  yet  expiate  your  sins,"  said  the  priest,  moisten- 
ing her  forehead  with  water,  and  making  her  smell  at  a  cruet  of 
toilet  vinegar  he  found  on  the  mantel. 

"  I  feel  that  life,  instead  of  departing,  is  rushing  in  on  me," 
said  she,  after  accepting  the  father's  care  and  expressing  her 
gratitude  by  simple  gestures.  This  engaging  pantomime,  such 
as  the  Graces  might  have  used  to  charm,  perfectly  justified  the 
nickname  given  to  this  strange  girl. 

"  Do  you  feel  better?"  said  the  priest,  giving  her  a  glass  of 
sugar  and  water  to  drink. 

This  man  seemed  accustomed  to  such  queer  establishments ; 
he  knew  all  about  it.  He  was  quite  at  home  there.  This 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  27 

privilege  of  being  everywhere  at  home  is  the  prerogative  of 
kings,  courtesans,  and  thieves. 

"When  you  feel  quite  well,"  this  strange  priest  went  on 
after  a  pause,  "  you  must  tell  me  the  reasons  which  prompted 
you  to  commit  this  last  crime,  this  attempted  suicide." 

"My  story  is  very  simple,  father,"  replied  she.  "Three 
months  ago  I  was  living  the  evil  life  to  which  I  was  born.  I 
was  the  lowest  and  vilest  of  creatures ;  now  I  am  only  the  most 
unhappy.  Excuse  me  from  telling  you  the  history  of  my  poor 
mother,  who  was  murdered " 

"  By  a  captain,  in  a  house  of  ill-fame,"  said  the  priest 
interrupting  the  penitent.  "  I  know  your  origin,  and  I  know 
that  if  a  being  of  your  sex  can  ever  be  excused  for  leading 
a  life  of  shame,  it  is  you,  who  have  always  lacked  good  ex- 
amples." 

"Alas !  I  was  never  baptized,  and  have  had  no  religious 
teaching." 

"All  may  yet  be  remedied  then,"  replied  the  priest,  "pro- 
vided that  your  faith,  your  repentance,  are  sincere  and  without 
ulterior  motive." 

"Lucien  and  God  fill  my  heart,"  said  she  with  ingenuous 
pathos. 

"You  might  have  said  God  and  Lucien,"  answered  the 
priest,  smiling.  "  You  remind  me  of  the  purpose  of  my  visit. 
Omit  nothing  that  concerns  that  young  man." 

"You  have  come  from  him?"  she  asked,  with  a  tender 
look  that  would  have  touched  any  other  priest !  "  Oh,  he 
thought  I  should  do  it !  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  priest ;  "  it  is  not  your  death,  but  your 
life  that  we  are  interested  in.  Come,  explain  your  position 
toward  each  other." 

"In  one  word,"  said  she. 

The  poor  child  quaked  at  the  priest's  stern  tone,  but  as  a 
woman  quakes  who  has  long  ceased  to  be  surprised  at  brutality. 

"  Lucien  is  Lucien,"  said  she,  "  the  handsomest  young  man, 


28  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

the  kindest  soul  alive ;  if  you  know  him,  my  love  must  seem 
to  you  quite  natural.  I  met  him  by  chance,  three  months 
ago,  at  the  Porte-Saint-Martin  theatre,  where  I  went  one  day 
when  I  had  leave,  for  we  had  a  day  a  week  at  Madame  Mey- 
nardie's,  where  I  then  was.  Next  day,  you  understand,  I 
went  out  without  leave.  Love  had  come  into  my  heart,  and 
had  so  completely  changed  me,  that  on  my  return  from  the 
theatre  I  did  not  know  myself:  I  had  a  horror  of  myself. 
Lucien  would  never  have  known.  Instead  of  telling  him  what 
I  was,  I  gave  him  my  address  at  these  rooms,  where  a  friend 
of  mine  was  then  living,  who  was  so  kind  as  to  give  them  up 
to  me.  I  swear  on  my  sacred  word ' ' 

"You  must  not  swear." 

"  Is  it  swearing  to  give  your  sacred  word  ?  Well,  from  that 
day  I  have  worked  in  this  room  like  a  lost  creature  at  shirt- 
making  at  twenty-eight  sous  apiece,  so  as  to  live  by  honest 
labor.  For  a  month  I  have  had  nothing  to  eat  but  potatoes, 
that  I  might  keep  myself  a  good  girl  and  worthy  of  Lucien, 
who  loves  me  and  respects  me  as  a  pattern  of  virtue.  I  have 
made  my  declaration  before  the  police  to  recover  my  rights, 
and  submitted  to  two  years'  surveillance.  They  are  ready 
enough  to  enter  your  name  on  the  lists  of  infamy,  but  make 
every  difficulty  about  scratching  it  out  again.  All  I  asked 
of  heaven  was  to  enable  me  to  keep  my  resolution. 

"I  shall  be  nineteen  in  the  month  of  April;  at  my  age 
there  is  still  a  chance.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  was  never  born 
till  three  months  ago.  I  prayed  to  God  every  morning  that 
Lucien  might  never  know  what  my  former  life  had  been.  I 
bought  that  virgin  you  see  there,  and  I  prayed  to  her  in  my 
own  way,  for  I  do  not  know  any  prayers ;  I  cannot  read  nor 
write,  and  I  have  never  been  into  a  church ;  I  have  never 
seen  anything  of  God  except  in  processions,  out  of  curiosity." 

"And  what  do  you  say  to  the  Virgin  ?*" 

"I  talk  to  her  as  I  talk  to  Lucien,  with  all  my  soul,  till  I 
make  him  cry." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  29 

"Oh,  so  he  cries?" 

"With  joy,"  said  she  eagerly,  "poor  dear  boy!  We  un- 
derstand each  other  so  well  that  we  have  but  one  soul  !  He 
is  so  nice,  so  fond,  so  sweet  in  heart  and  mind  and  manners ! 
He  says  he  is  a  poet ;  I  say  he  is  god.  Forgive  me !  You 
priests,  you  see,  don't  know  what  love  is.  But,  in  fact,  only 
girls  like  me  know  enough  of  men  to  appreciate  such  as 
Lucien.  A  Lucien,  you  see,  is  as  rare  as  a  woman  without 
sin.  When  you  come  across  him  you  can  love  no  one  else ; 
so  there  !  But  such  a  being  must  have  his  fellow;  so  I  want 
to  be  worthy  to  be  loved  by  my  Lucien.  That  is  where  my 
trouble  began.  Last  evening,  at  the  opera,  I  was  recognized 
by  some  young  men  who  have  no  more  feeling  than  a  tiger 
has  pity — for  that  matter,  I  could  come  round  the  tiger  !  The 
veil  of  innocence  I  had  tried  to  wear  was  torn  off;  their 
laughter  pierced  my  brain  and  my  heart.  Do  not  think  you 
have  saved  me ;  I  shall  die  of  grief." 

"Your  veil  of  innocence?"  said  the  priest.  "Then  you 
have  treated  Lucien  with  the  sternest  severity?" 

"Oh,  father,  how  can  you,  who  know  him,  ask  me  such 
a  question  !  "  she  replied  with  a  smile.  "Who  can  resist  a 
god?" 

"Do  not  be  blasphemous,"  said  the  priest  mildly.  "No 
one  can  be  like  God.  Exaggeration  is  out  of  place  with  true 
love ;  you  had  not  a  pure  and  genuine  love  for  your  idol.  If 
you  had  undergone  the  conversion  you  boast  of  having  felt, 
you  would  have  acquired  the  virtues  which  are  a  part  of 
womanhood ;  you  would  have  known  the  charm  of  chastity, 
the  refinements  of  modesty,  the  two  virtues  that  are  the  glory 
of  a  maiden.  You  do  not  love." 

Esther's  gesture  of  horror  was  seen  by  the  priest,  but  it  had 
no  effect  on  the  impassibility  of  her  confessor. 

"Yes;  for  you  love  him  for  yourself  and  not  for  himself, 
for  the  temporal  enjoyments  that  delight  you,  and  not  for 
love  itself.  If  he  has  thus  taken  possession  of  you,  you  can- 


30  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

not  have  felt  that  sacred  thrill  that  is  inspired  by  a  being  on 
whom  God  has  set  the  seal  of  the  most  adorable  perfections. 
Has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  you  would  degrade  him  by 
your  past  impurity,  that  you  would  corrupt  a  child  by  the 
overpowering  seductions  which  earned  you  your  nickname 
glorious  in  infamy  ?  You  have  been  illogical  with  yourself, 
and  your  passion  of  a  day " 

"  Of  a  day  ?  "  she  repeated,  raising  her  eyes. 

"  By  what  other  name  can  you  call  a  love  that  is  not 
eternal,  that  does  not  unite  us  in  the  future  life  of  the  Chris- 
tian, to  the  being  we  love  ?  " 

"Ah,  I  will  be  a  Catholic!  "  she  cried  in  a  hollow,  vehe- 
ment tone,  that  would  have  earned  her  the  mercy  of  our 
Saviour. 

"  Can  a  girl  who  has  received  neither  the  baptism  of  the 
church  nor  that  of  knowledge ;  who  can  neither  read,  nor 
write,  nor  pray;  who  cannot  take  a  step  without  the  stones  in 
the  street  rising  up  to  accuse  her ;  noteworthy  only  for  the 
fugitive  gift  of  beauty  which  sickness  may  destroy  to-morrow ; 
can  such  a  vile,  degraded  creature,  fully  aware  too  of  her 
degradation — for  if  you  had  been  ignorant  of  it  and  less  de- 
voted, you  would  have  been  more  excusable — can  the  intended 
victim  to  suicide  and  hell  hope  to  be  the  wife  of  Lucien  de 
Rubempre?" 

Every  word  was  a  poniard  thrust  piercing  the  depths  of  her 
heart.  At  every  word  the  louder  sobs  and  abundant  tears  of 
the  desperate  girl  showed  the  power  with  which  light  had 
flashed  upon  an  intelligence  as  pure  as  that  of  a  savage,  upon 
a  soul  at  length  aroused,  upon  a  nature  over  which  depravity 
had  laid  a  sheet  of  foul  ice  now  thawed  in  the  sunshine  of 
faith. 

"Why  did  I  not  die  !  "  was  the  only  thought  that  found 
utterance  in  the  midst  of  a  torrent  of  Jdeas  that  racked  and 
ravaged  her  brain. 

'*  My  daughter,"  said  the  terrible  judge,  "  there  is  a  love 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  31 

which  is  unconfessed  before  men,  but  of  which  the  secret  is 
received  by  the  angels  with  smiles  of  gladness." 
"What  is  that?" 

"  Love  without  hope,  when  it  inspires  our  life,  when  it  fills 
us  with  the  spirit  of  sacrifice,  when  it  ennobles  every  act  by 
the  thought  of  reaching  some  ideal  perfection.  Yes,  the 
angels  approve  of  such  love ;  it  leads  to  the  knowledge  of 
God.  To  aim  at  perfection  in  order  to  be  worthy  of  the  one 
you  love,  to  make  for  him  a  thousand  secret  sacrifices,  adoring 
him  from  afar,  giving  your  blood  drop  by  drop,  abnegating 
your  self-love,  never  feeling  any  pride  or  anger  as  regards 
him,  even  concealing  from  him  all  knowledge  of  the  dreadful 
jealousy  he  fires  in  your  heart,  giving  him  all  he  wishes  were 
it  to  your  own  loss,  loving  what  he  loves,  always  turning  your 
face  to  him  to  follow  him  without  his  knowing  it — such  love 
as  that  religion  would  have  forgiven  ;  it  is  no  offense  to  laws 
human  or  divine,  and  would  have  led  you  into  another  road 
than  that  of  your  foul  voluptuous  pleasures." 

As  she  heard  this  horrible  verdict,  uttered  in  a  word — and 
such  a  word  !  and  spoken  in  such  a  tone  !  Esther's  spirit 
rose  up  in  fairly  legitimate  distrust.  This  word  was  like  a 
thunder-clap  giving  warning  of  a  storm  about  to  break.  She 
looked  at  the  priest,  and  felt  the  grip  on  her  vitals  which 
wrings  the  bravest  when  face  to  face  with  sudden  and  immi- 
nent danger.  No  eye  could  have  read  what  was  passing  in 
this  man's  mind  ;  but  the  boldest  would  have  found  more  to 
quail  at  than  to  hope  for  in  the  expression  of  his  eyes,  once 
bright  and  yellow  like  those  of  a  tiger,  but  now  shrouded, 
from  austerities  and  privations,  with  a  haze  like  that  which 
overhangs  the  horizon  in  the  dog-days,  when,  though  the 
earth  is  hot  and  luminous,  the  mist  makes  it  indistinct  and 
dim — almost  invisible. 

The  gravity  of  a  Spaniard,  the  deep  furrows  which  the 
myriad  scars  of  virulent  smallpox  made  hideously  like  broken 
ruts,  were  ploughed  into  his  face,  which  was  sallow  and  tanned 


32  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

by  the  sun.  The  hardness  of  this  countenance  was  all  the 
more  conspicuous,  being  framed  in  the  meagre  dry  wig  of  a 
priest  who  takes  no  care  of  his  person,  a  black  wig  looking 
rusty  in  the  light.  His  athletic  frame,  his  hands  like  an  old 
soldier's,  his  broad,  strong  shoulders  were  those  of  the  Carya- 
tides which  the  architects  of  the  Middle  Ages  introduced  into 
some  Italian  palaces,  remotely  imitated  in  those  of  the  front 
of  the  Porte-Saint-Martin  theatre.  The  least  clear-sighted 
observer  might  have  seen  that  fiery  passions  or  some  unwonted 
accident  must  have  thrown  this  man  into  the  bosom  of  the 
church  ;  certainly  none  but  the  most  tremendous  shocks  of 
lightning  could  have  changed  him,  if  indeed  such  a  nature 
were  susceptible  of  change. 

Women  who  have  lived  the  life  that  Esther  had  so  violently 
repudiated  come  to  feel  absolute  indifference  as  to  the  external 
form  of  a  man.  They  are  like  the  literary  critics  of  our  day, 
who  may  be  compared  with  them  in  some  respects,  and  who 
feel  at  last  perfect  disregard  of  the  formulas  of  art ;  they  have 
read  so  many  books,  they  see  so  many  pass  away,  they  are  so 
much  accustomed  to  written  pages,  they  have  gone  through 
so  many  plots,  they  have  seen  so  many  dramas,  they  have 
written  so  many  articles  without  saying  what  they  meant,  and 
have  so  often  been  treasonable  to  the  cause  of  Art  in  favor  of 
their  personal  likings  and  aversions,  that  they  acquire  a  feeling 
of  disgust  of  everything,  and  yet  continue  to  pass  judgment. 
It  needs  a  miracle  to  make  such  a  writer  produce  sound  work, 
just  as  it  needs  another  miracle  to  give  birth  to  pure  and 
noble  love  in  the  heart  of  a  courtesan. 

The  tone  and  manner  of  this  priest,  who  seemed  to  have 
stepped  out  of  a  canvas  by  Zurbaran,  struck  this  poor  girl  as 
so  hostile,  little  as  externals  affected  her,  that  she  perceived 
herself  to  be  less  the  object  of  his  solicitude  than  the  instru- 
ment he  needed  for  some  scheme.  Being  unable  to  distin- 
guish between  the  insinuating  tongue  of  personal  interest  and 
the  unction  of  true  charity,  for  we  must  be  acutely  awake  to 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  33 

recognize  false  coin  when  it  is  offered  by  a  friend,  she  felt 
herself,  as  it  were,  in  the  talons  of  some  fierce  and  monstrous 
bird  of  prey  who,  after  hovering  over  her  for  long,  had 
pounced  down  on  her ;  and  in  her  terror  she  cried  in  a  voice 
of  alarm — 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  priest's  duty  to  console  us,  and  you 
torture  me!  " 

At  this  innocent  outcry  the  priest  started  and  paused ;  he 
meditated  a  moment  before  replying.  During  that  instant 
the  two  persons  so  strangely  brought  together  studied  each 
other  cautiously.  The  priest  understood  the  girl,  though  the 
girl  could  not  understand  the  priest. 

He,  no  doubt,  put  aside  some  plan  which  had  threatened 
the  unhappy  Esther,  and  came  back  to  his  first  ideas. 

"We  are  the  physicians  of  the  soul,"  said  he,  in  a  mild 
voice,  "and  we  know  what  remedies  suit  their  maladies." 

"Much  must  be  forgiven  the  wretched,"  said  the  weeping 
Esther. 

She  fancied  she  had  been  wrong ;  she  slipped  off  the  bed, 
threw  herself  at  the  man's  feet,  kissed  his  cassock  with  deep 
humility,  and  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"  I  thought  I  had  done  so  much  !  "  she  said. 

"  Listen,  my  daughter.  Your  terrible  reputation  has  cast 
Lucien's  family  into  grief.  They  are  afraid,  and  not  without 
reason,  that  you  may  lead  him  into  dissipation,  into  endless 
folly " 

"  That  is  true ;  it  was  I  who  got  him  to  the  ball  to  mystify 
him." 

"You  are  handsome  enough  to  make  him  wish  to  triumph 
in  you  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  to  show  you  with  pride,  and 
make  you  an  object  for  display.  And  if  he  wasted  money 
only ! — but  he  will  waste  his  time,  his  powers ;  he  will  lose 
his  inclination  for  the  fine  future  his  friends  can  secure  to 
him.  Instead  of  being  some  day  an  ambassador,  rich,  ad- 
mired, and  triumphant,  he,  like  so  many  debauchees  who 
3 


34  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

choke  their  talents  in  the  mud  of  Paris,  will  have  become  the 
lover  of  a  degraded  woman. 

"As  for  you,  after  rising  for  a  time  to  the  level  of  a  sphere 
of  elegance,  you  will  presently  sink  back  to  your  former  life, 
for  you  have  not  in  you  the  strength  bestowed  by  a  good  edu- 
cation to  enable  you  to  resist  vice  and  think  of  the  future. 
You  would  no  more  be  able  to  break  with  the  women  of  your 
own  class  than  you  have  broken  with  the  men  who  shamed 
you  at  the  opera  this  morning.  Lucien's  true  friends,  alarmed 
by  his  passion  for  you,  have  dogged  his  steps  and  know  all. 
Filled  with  horror,  they  have  sent  me  to  you  to  sound  your 
views  and  decide  your  fate ;  but  though  they  are  powerful 
enough  to  clear  a  stumbling-stone  out  of  the  young  man's 
way,  they  are  merciful.  Understand  this,  child  :  a  girl  whom 
Lucien  loves  has  claims  on  their  regard,  as  a  true  Christian 
worships  the  slough  on  which,  by  chance,  the  divine  light 
falls.  I  came  to  be  the  instrument  of  a  beneficent  purpose ; 
still,  if  I  had  found  you  utterly  reprobate,  armed  with  ef- 
frontery and  astuteness,  corrupt  to  the  marrow,  deaf  to  the 
voice  of  repentance,  I  should  have  abandoned  you  to  their 
wrath. 

"  The  release,  civil  and  political,  which  it  is  so  hard  to  win, 
which  the  police  is  so  right  to  withhold  for  a  time  in  the  in- 
terests of  society,  and  which  I  heard  you  long  for  with  all  the 
ardor  of  true  repentance — is  here,"  said  the  priest,  taking  an 
official-looking  paper  out  of  his  belt.  "  You  were  seen  yes- 
terday, this  letter  of  release  is  dated  to-day.  You  see  how 
powerful  the  people  are  who  take  an  interest  in  Lucien." 

At  the  sight  of  this  document  Esther  was  so  ingenuously 
overcome  by  the  convulsive  agitation  produced  by  unlooked- 
for  joy  that  a  fixed  smile  parted  her  lips,  like  that  of  a  crazy  crea- 
ture. The  priest  paused,  looking  at  the  girl  to  see  whether,  when 
once  she  had  lost  the  horrible  strength  which  corrupt  natures 
find  in  corruption  itself,  and  was  thrown  back  on  her  frail  and 
delicate  primitive  nature,  she  could  endure  so  much  excitement. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  35 

If  she  had  been  a  deceitful  courtesan,  Esther  would  have  acted 
a  part ;  but  now  that  she  was  innocent  and  herself  once  more, 
she  might  perhaps  die,  as  a  blind  man  cured  may  lose  his  sight 
again  if  he  is  exposed  to  too  bright  a  light.  At  this  moment 
this  man  looked  into  the  very  depths  of  human  nature,  but  his 
calmness  was  terrible  in  its  rigidity ;  a  cold  alp,  snow-bound 
and  near  to  heaven,  impenetrable  and  frowning,  with  flanks  of 
granite,  and  yet  beneficent. 

Prostitutes  are  essentially  impressionable  beings,  passing 
without  reason  from  the  most  idiotic  distrust  to  absolute  con- 
fidence. In  this  respect  they  are  lower  than  animals.  Ex- 
treme in  everything — in  their  joy  and  despair,  in  their  religion 
and  irreligion — they  would  almost  all  go  mad  if  they  were  not 
decimated  by  the  mortality  peculiar  to  their  class,  and  if  happy 
chances  did  not  lift  one  now  and  then  from  the  slough  in  which 
they  dwell.  To  understand  the  very  depths  of  the  wretched- 
ness of  this  horrible  existence,  one  must  know  how  far  in  mad- 
ness a  creature  can  go  without  remaining  there,  by  studying 
La  Torpille's  violent  ecstasy  at  the  priest's  feet.  The  poor 
girl  gazed  at  the  paper  of  release  with  an  expression  which 
Dante  has  overlooked,  and  which  surpassed  the  inventiveness 
of  his  Inferno.  But  a  reaction  came  with  tears.  Esther  rose, 
threw  her  arms  round  the  priest's  neck,  laid  her  head  on  his 
breast,  which  she  wetted  with  her  weeping,  kissing  the  coarse 
stuff  that  covered  that  heart  of  steel  as  if  she  fain  would  tduch 
it.  She  seized  hold  of  him  ;  she  covered  his  hands  with  kisses ; 
she  poured  out  in  a  sacred  effusion  of  gratitude  her  most  coax- 
ing caresses,  lavished  fond  names  on  him,  saying  again  and 
again  in  the  midst  of  her  honeyed  words :  "  Give  it  to  me  !  " 
in  a  thousand  different  tones  of  voice ;  she  wrapped  him  in 
tenderness,  covered  him  with  her  looks  with  a  swiftness  that 
found  him  defenseless  ;  at  last  she  charmed  away  his  wrath. 

The  priest  perceived  how  well  the  girl  had  deserved  her 
nickname ;  he  understood  how  difficult  it  was  to  resist  this 
bewitching  creature ;  he  suddenly  comprehended  Lucien's 


36  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

love,  and  just  what  must  have  fascinated  the  poet.  Such  a 
passion  hides  among  a  thousand  temptations  a  dart-like  hook 
which  is  most  apt  to  catch  the  lofty  soul  of  an  artist.  These 
passions,  inexplicable  to  the  vulgar,  are  perfectly  accounted 
for  by  the  thirst  for  ideal  beauty,  which  is  characteristic  of  a 
creative  mind.  For  are  we  not,  in  some  degree,  akin  to  the 
angels,  whose  task  it  is  to  bring  the  guilty  to  a  better  mind  ? 
are  we  not  creative  when  we  purify  such  a  creature  ?  How 
delightful  it  is  to  harmonize  moral  with  physical  beauty  ! 
What  joy  and  pride  if  we  succeed  !  How  noble  a  task  is  that 
which  has  no  instrument  but  love  ! 

Such  alliances,  made  famous  by  the  example  of  Aristotle, 
Socrates,  Plato,  Alcibiades,  Cethegus,  and  Pompey,  and  yet 
so  monstrous  in  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar,  are  based  on  the  same 
feeling  that  prompted  Louis  XIV.  to  build  Versailles,  or  that 
makes  men  rush  into  any  ruinous  enterprise — into  converting 
the  miasma  of  a  marsh  into  a  mass  of  fragrance  surrounded  by 
living  waters ;  placing  a  lake  at  the  top  of  a  hill,  as  the  Prince 
de  Conti  did  at  Nointel ;  or  producing  Swiss  scenery  at  Cassan, 
like  Bergeret,  the  farmer-general.  In  short,  it  is  the  applica- 
tion of  Art  in  the  realm  of  Morals. 

The  priest,  ashamed  of  having  yielded  to  this  weakness, 
hastily  pushed  Esther  away,  and  she  sat  down  quite  abashed, 
for  he  said — 

"You  are  still  the  courtesan."  And  he  calmly  replaced 
the  paper  in  his  sash. 

Esther,  like  a  child  who  has  a  single  wish  in  its  head,  kept 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  spot  where  the  document  lay  hidden. 

"  My  child,"  the  priest  went  on  after  a  pause,  "  your  mother 
was  a  Jewess,  and  you  have  not  been  baptized  ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  you  have  never  been  taken  to  the  synagogue. 
You  are  in  the  religious  limbo  where  little  children  are " 

"Little  children!"  she  echoed,  in -a  tenderly  pathetic 
tone. 

"  As  you  are  a  mere  number  on  the  books  of  the  police,  a 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  37 

cipher  outside  the  pale  of  social  beings,"  the  priest  went  on, 
unmoved.  "  If  love,  seen  as  it  swept  past,  led  you  to  believe 
three  months'  since  that  you  were  then  born,  you  must  feel 
that  since  that  day  you  have  been  really  an  infant.  You  must, 
therefore,  be  led  as  if  you  were  a  child  ;  you  must  be  com- 
pletely changed,  and  I  will  undertake  to  make  you  unrecog- 
nizable. To  begin  with,  you  must  forget  Lucien." 

The  words  crushed  the  poor  girl's  heart ;  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  the  priest  and  shook  her  head ;  she  could  not  speak, 
finding  the  executioner  in  the  deliverer  again. 

"At  any  rate,  you  must  give  up  seeing  him,"  he  went  on. 
"  I  will  take  you  to  a  religious  house  where  young  girls  of  the 
best  families  are  educated  ;  there  you  will  become  a  Catholic, 
you  will  be  trained  in  the  practice  of  Christian  exercises,  you 
will  be  taught  religion.  You  may  come  out  an  accomplished 

young  lady,  chaste,  pure,  well  brought  up,  if "  The  man 

lifted  up  a  finger  and  paused. 

"If,"  he  went  on,  "you  feel  brave  enough  to  leave  the 
'Torpille'  behind  you  here." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  the  poor  thing,  to  whom  each  word  had  been 
like  a  note  of  some  melody  to  which  the  gates  of  paradise  were 
slowly  opening.  "Ah!  if  it  were  possible  to  shed  all  my 
blood  here  and  have  it  renewed  !" 

"Listen  to  me." 

She  was  silent. 

"  Your  future  fate  depends  on  your  power  of  forgetting. 
Think  of  the  extent  to  which  you  pledge  yourself.  A  word, 
a  gesture,  which  betrays  La  Torpille  will  kill  Lucien's  wife. 
A  word  murmured  in  a  dream,  an  involuntary  thought, 
an  immodest  glance,  a  gesture  of  impatience,  a  reminiscence 
of  dissipation,  an  omission,  a  shake  of  the  head  that  might 
reveal  what  you  know,  or  what  is  known  about  you  to  your 
disgrace " 

"Yes,  yes,  father,"  said  the  girl,  with  the  exaltation  of  a 
saint.  "  To  walk  in  shoes  of  red-hot  iron  and  smile,  to  live 


38  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

in  a  corset  set  with  spikes  and  maintain  the  grace  of  a  dancer, 
to  eat  bread  salted  with  ashes,  to  drink  wormwood — all  would 
be  sweet,  easy  !  " 

She  fell  again  on  her  knees,  she  kissed  the  priest's  shoes, 
she  melted  into  tears  that  wetted  them,  she  clasped  his  knees, 
and  clung  to  them,  murmuring  foolish  words  as  she  wept  for 
joy.  Her  long  and  beautiful  light  hair  waved  to  the  ground,  a 
sort  of  carpet  under  the  feet  of  the  celestial  messenger,  whom 
she  saw  as  gloomy  and  hard  as  ever  when  she  lifted  herself  up 
and  looked  at  him. 

"What  have  I  done  to  offend  you?"  cried  she,  quite 
frightened.  "  I  have  heard  of  a  woman,  such  as  I  am,  who 
washed  the  feet  of  Jesus  with  perfumes.  Alas !  cruel  virtue 
has  made  me  so  poor  that  I  have  nothing  but  tears  left  to  offer 
you." 

"Have  you  not  understood?"  he  answered,  in  a  cruel 
voice.  "  I  tell  you,  you  must  be  able  to  come  out  of  the 
house  to  which  I  shall  take  you  so  completely  changed,  physi- 
cally and  morally,  that  no  man  or  woman  you  have  ever 
known  will  be  able  to  call  you  '  Esther '  and  make  you  look 
round.  Yesterday  your  love  could  not  give  you  strength 
enough  so  completely  to  bury  the  prostitute  that  she  could 
never  reappear;  and  again  to-day  she  revives  in  adoration 
which  is  due  to  none  but  God." 

"  Was  it  not  He  who  sent  you  to  me  ?  "   said  she. 

"  If  during  the  course  of  your  education  you  should  even 
see  Lucien,  all  would  be  lost,"  he  went  on;  "remember 
that." 

"  Who  will  comfort  him  ?  "  said  she. 

"What  was  it  that  you  comforted  him  for?"  asked  the 
priest,  in  a  tone  in  which,  for  the  first  time  during  this  scene, 
there  was  a  nervous  tremor. 

"  I  do  not  know;  he  was  often  sad  when  he  came." 

"  Sad  !  "  said  the  priest.     "  Did  he  tell  you  why  ?  '* 

"Never,"  answered  she. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  39 

"He  was  sad  at  loving  such  a  creature  as  you!"  ex- 
claimed he. 

"Alas!  and  well  he  might  be,"  said  she,  with  deep  humility. 
"I  am  the  most  despicable  creature  of  my  sex,  and  I  could 
find  favor  in  his  eyes  only  by  the  greatness  of  my  love." 

"  That  love  must  give  you  the  courage  to  obey  me  blindly. 
If  I  were  to  take  you  straight  from  hence  to  the  house  where 
you  are  to  be  educated,  everybody  here  would  tell  Lucien 
that  you  had  gone  away  to-day,  Sunday,  with  a  priest;  he 
might  follow  in  your  tracks.  In  the  course  of  a  week,  the 
portress,  not  seeing  me  again,  might  suppose  me  to  be  what  I 
am  not.  So,  one  evening — this  day  week — at  seven  o'clock, 
go  out  quietly  and  get  into  a  cab  that  will  be  waiting  for  you 
at  the  bottom  of  the  Rue  des  Frondeurs.  During  this  week 
avoid  Lucien,  find  excuses,  have  him  sent  from  the  door,  and, 
if  he  should  come  in,  go  up  to  some  friend's  room.  I  shall 
know  if  you  have  seen  him,  and  in  that  event  all  will  be  at  an 
end.  I  shall  not  even  come  back.  These  eight  days  you  will 
need  to  make  up  some  suitable  clothing  and  to  hide  your 
look  of  a  prostitute,"  said  he,  laying  a  purse  on  the  mantel. 
"There  is  something  in  your  manner,  in  your  clothes — some- 
thing indefinable  which  is  well  known  to  Parisians,  and  pro- 
claims you  what  you  are.  Have  you  never  met  in  the  streets 
or  on  the  boulevards  avmodest  and  virtuous  girl  walking  with 
her  mother?  " 

"Oh  yes,  to  my  sorrow!  The  sight  of  a  mother  and 
daughter  is  one  of  our  most  cruel  punishments;  it  arouses 
the  remorse  that  lurks  in  the  innermost  folds  of  our  hearts, 
and  that  is  consuming  us.  I  know  too  well  all  I  lack." 

"  Well,  then,  you  know  how  you  should  look  next  Sunday," 
said  the  priest,  rising. 

"Oh!"  said  she,  "teach  me  one  real  prayer  before  you 
go,  that  I  may  pray  to  God." 

It  was  a  touching  thing  to  see  the  priest  making  this  girl 
repeat  Ave  Maria  and  Paternoster  in  French. 


40  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"That  is  very  fine !  "  said  Esther,  when  she  had  repeated 
these  two  grand  and  universal  utterances  of  the  Catholic  faith 
without  making  a  mistake. 

"What  is  your  name?"  she  asked  the  priest  as  he  took 
leave  of  her. 

"Carlos  Herrera;  I  am  a  Spaniard  banished  from  my 
country." 

Esther  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  She  was  no  longer  the 
courtesan  ;  she  was  an  angel  rising  from  her  fall. 

In  a  religious  institution,  famous  for  the  aristocratic  and 
pious  teaching  imparted  there,  one  Monday  morning  in  the 
beginning  of  March,  1824,  the  pupils  found  their  pretty  flock 
increased  by  a  new-comer,  whose  beauty  triumphed  without 
dispute  not  only  over  that  of  her  companions,  but  over  the 
special  details  of  beauty  which  were  found  severally  in  per- 
fection in  each  one  of  them.  In  France  it  is  extremely  rare, 
not  to  say  impossible,  to  meet  with  the  thirty  points  of  per- 
fection, described  in  Parisian  verse,  and  engraved,  it  is  said, 
in  the  Seraglio,  which  are  needed  to  make  a  woman  absolutely 
beautiful.  Though  in  France  the  whole  is  seldom  seen,  we 
find  exquisite  parts.  As  to  that  imposing  union  which  sculp- 
ture tries  to  produce,  and  has  produced  in  a  few  rare  examples 
like  the  Diana  and  the  Callipyge,  it  is  the  privileged  possession 
of  Greece  and  Asia  Minor. 

Esther  came  from  that  cradle  of  the  human  race  ;  her  mother 
was  a  Jewess.  The  Jews,  though  so  often  deteriorated  by 
their  contact  with  other  nations,  have,  among  their  many 
races,  families  in  which  this  sublime  type  of  Asiatic  beauty 
has  been  preserved.  When  they  are  not  repulsively  hideous, 
they  present  the  splendid  characteristics  of  Armenian  beauty. 
Esther  would  have  carried  off  the  prize  at  the  Seraglio ;  she 
had  the  thirty  points  harmoniously  combined.  Far  from 
having  damaged  the  finish  of  her  modeling  and  the  freshness 
of  her  flesh,  her  strange  life  had  given  her  the  mysterious 


THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  41 

charm  of  womanhood ;  it  is  no  longer  the  close,  waxy  texture 
of  green  fruit  and  not  yet  the  warm  glow  of  maturity  ;  there  is 
still  the  scent  of  the  flower.  A  few  months  longer  spent  in 
dissolute  living,  and  she  would  have  been  too  plump.  This 
abundant  health,  this  perfection  of  the  animal  in  a  being  in 
whom  voluptuousness  took  the  place  of  thought,  must  be  a 
remarkable  fact  in  the  eyes  of  physiologists.  A  circumstance 
so  rare,  that  it  may  be  called  impossible  in  very  young  girls, 
was  that  her  hands,  incomparably  fine  in  shape,  were  as  soft, 
transparent,  and  white  as  those  of  a  woman  after  the  birth  of 
her  second  child.  She  had  exactly  the  hair  and  the  foot  for 
which  the  Duchesse  de  Berri  was  so  famous,  hair  so  thick  that 
no  hairdresser  could  gather  it  into  his  hand,  and  so  long  that 
it  fell  to  the  ground  in  rings  ;  for  Esther  was  of  that  medium 
height  which  makes  a  woman  a  sort  of  toy,  to  be  taken  up  and 
set  down,  taken  up  again  and  carried  without  fatigue.  Her 
skin,  as  fine  as  rice-paper,  of  a  warm  amber  hue  showing  the 
purple  veins,  was  satiny  without  dryness,  soft  without  being 
clammy. 

Esther,  excessively  strong  though  apparently  fragile,  arrested 
attention  by  one  feature  that  is  conspicuous  in  the  faces  in 
which  Raphael  has  shown  his  most  artistic  feeling,  for  Raphael 
is  the  painter  who  has  most  studied  and  best  rendered  Jewish 
beauty.  This  remarkable  effect  was  produced  by  the  depth 
of  the  eye-socket,  under  which  the  eye  moved  free  from  its 
setting ;  the  arch  of  the  brow  was  so  accurate  as  to  resemble 
the  groining  of  a  vault.  When  youth  lends  this  beautiful 
hollow  its  pure  and  diaphanous  coloring,  and  edges  it  with 
closely  set  eyebrows,  when  the  light  stealing  into  the  circular 
cavity  beneath  lingers  there  with  a  pale  rosy  tint,  there  are 
tender  treasures  in  it  to  delight  a  lover,  beauties  to  drive  a 
painter  to  despair.  Those  luminous  curves,  where  the  shadows 
have  a  golden  tone,  that  tissue  as  firm  as  a  sinew  and  as  mobile 
as  the  most  delicate  membrane,  is  a  crowning  achievement  of 
nature.  The  eye  at  rest  within  is  like  a  miraculous  egg  in  a 


42  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

nest  of  silken  wings.  But  as  time  goes  on  this  marvel  acquires 
a  dreadful  melancholy,  when  passions  have  laid  dark  smears 
on  those  fine  forms,  when  grief  has  furrowed  that  network  of 
delicate  veins.  Esther's  nationality  proclaimed  itself  in  this 
Oriental  modeling  of  her  eyes  with  their  Turkish  lids ;  their 
color  was  a  slate-gray  which  by  night  took  on  the  blue  sheen 
of  a  raven's  wing.  It  was  only  the  extreme  tenderness  of  her 
expression  that  could  moderate  their  fire. 

Only  those  races  that  are  native  to  deserts  have  in  the  eye 
the  power  of  fascinating  everybody,  for  any  woman  can  fasci- 
nate some  one  person.  Their  eyes  preserve,  no  doubt,  some- 
thing of  the  infinitude  they  have  gazed  on.  Has  nature,  in 
her  foresight,  armed  their  retina  with  some  reflecting  back- 
ground to  enable  them  to  endure  the  mirage  of  the  sand,  the 
torrents  of  sunshine,  and  the  burning  cobalt  of  the  sky?  or, 
do  human  beings,  like  other  creatures,  derive  something  from 
the  surroundings  among  which  they  grow  up,  and  preserve  for 
ages  the  qualities  they  have  imbibed  from  them  ?  The  great 
solution  of  this  problem  of  race  lies  perhaps  in  the  question 
itself.  Instincts  are  living  facts,  and  their  cause  dwells  in 
past  necessity.  Variety  in  animals  is  the  result  of  the  exercise 
of  these  instincts. 

To  convince  ourselves  of  this  long-sought-for  truth,  it  is 
enough  to  extend  to  the  herd  of  mankind  the  observation  re- 
cently made  on  flocks  of  Spanish  and  English  sheep  which,  in 
low  meadows  where  pasture  is  abundant,  feed  side  by  side  in 
close  array,  but  on  mountains,  where  grass  is  scarce,  scatter 
apart.  Take  these  two  kinds  of  sheep,  transfer  them  to  Switz- 
erland or  France  :  the  mountain  breeds  will  feed  apart  even 
in  a  lowland  meadow  of  thick  grass,  the  lowland  sheep  will 
keep  together  even  on  an  alp.  Hardly  will  a  succession  of 
generations  eliminate  acquired  and  transmitted  instincts. 
After  a  century  the  highland  spirit  reappears  in  a  refractory 
lamb,  just  as,  after  eighteen  centuries  of  exile,  the  spirit  of 
the  Orient  shone  in  Esther's  eyes  and  features. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  43 

Her  look  had  no  terrible  fascination  ;  it  shed  a  mild  warmth, 
it  was  pathetic  without  being  startling,  and  the  sternest  wills 
were  melted  in  its  flame.  Esther  had  conquered  hatred,  she 
had  astonished  the  depraved  souls  of  Paris ;  in  short,  that 
look  and  the  softness  of  her  skin  had  earned  her  the  terrible 
nickname  which  had  just  led  her  to  the  verge  of  the  grave. 
Everything  about  her  was  in  harmony  with  these  characteristics 
of  the  Peri  of  the  burning  sands.  Her  forehead  was  firmly 
and  proudly  moulded.  Her  nose,  like  that  of  the  Arab  race, 
was  delicate  and  narrow,  with  oval  nostrils  well  set  and  open 
at  the  base.  Her  mouth,  fresh  and  red,  was  a  rose  unblem- 
ished by  a  flaw,  dissipation  had  left  no  trace  there.  Her 
chin,  rounded  as  though  some  amorous  sculptor  had  polished 
its  fullness,  was  as  white  as  milk.  One  thing  only  that  she 
had  not  been  able  to  remedy  betrayed  the  courtesan  fallen 
very  low:  her  broken  nails,  which  needed  time  to  recover 
their  shape,  so  much  had  they  been  spoiled  by  the  vulgarest 
household  tasks. 

The  young  boarders  began  by  being  jealous  of  these  marvels 
of  beauty,  but  they  ended  by  admiring  them.  Before  the 
first  week  was  at  an  end  they  were  all  attached  to  the  artless 
Jewess,  for  they  were  interested  in  the  unknown  misfortunes 
of  a  girl  of  eighteen  who  could  neither  read  nor  write,  to 
whom  all  knowledge  and  instruction  were  new,  and  who  was 
to  earn  for  the  archbishop  the  triumph  of  having  converted  a 
Jewess  to  Catholicism  and  giving  the  convent  a  festival  in  her 
baptism.  They  forgave  her  her  beauty,  finding  themselves 
her  superiors  in  education. 

Esther  very  soon  acquired  the  manners,  the  accent,  the  car- 
riage and  attitudes  of  these  well-bred  girls  ;  in  short,  her  first 
nature  reasserted  itself.  The  change  was  so  complete  that  on 
his  first  visit  Herrera  was  astonished — Herrera,  whom  nothing 
in  the  world  could  astonish  as  it  would  seem — and  the  mother 
superior  congratulated  him  on  his  ward.  Never  in  their  ex- 
perience as  teachers  had  these  sisters  met  with  a  more  charm- 


44  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

ing  nature,  more  Christian  meekness,  true  modesty,  nor  a 
greater  eagerness  to  learn.  When  a  girl  has  suffered  such 
misery  as  had  overwhelmed  this  poor  child,  and  looks  for- 
ward to  such  a  reward  as  the  Spaniard  held  out  to  Esther,  it 
is  hard  if  she  does  not  realize  the  miracles  of  the  early  church 
which  the  Jesuits  revived  in  Paraguay. 

"She  is  edifying,"  said  the  superior,  kissing  her  on  the 
brow. 

And  this  essentially  Catholic  word  tells  all. 

In  recreation  hours  Esther  would  question  her  ompamons, 
but  discreetly,  as  to  the  simplest  matters  in  fashionable  life, 
which  to  her  were  like  the  first  strange  ideas  of  life  to  an 
infant.  When  she  heard  that  she  was  to  be  dressed  in  white 
on  the  day  of  her  baptism  and  first  communion,  that  she 
would  wear  a  white  satin  fillet,  white  bows,  white  shoes,  white 
gloves,  and  white  rosettes  in  her  hair,  she  melted  into  tears, 
to  the  amazement  of  her  companions.  It  was  the  reverse  of 
the  scene  of  Jephtha  on  the  mountain.  But  the  courtesan 
was  afraid  of  being  suspected  ;  she  ascribed  this  dreadful  de- 
jection to  the  joy  with  which  she  looked  forward  to  the  func- 
tion. As  there  is  certainly  as  wide  a  gulf  between  the  habits 
she  had  given  up  and  the  habits  she  was  acquiring  as  there  is 
between  the  savage  state  and  civilization,  she  had  the  grace 
and  simplicity  and  depth  which  distinguished  the  wonderful 
heroine  of  the  American  Puritans.  She  had,  too,  without 
knowing  it,  a  love  that  was  eating  out  her  heart — a  strange 
love,  a  desire  more  violent  in  her  who  knew  everything  than 
it  can  be  in  a  maiden  who  knows  nothing,  though  the  two 
forms  of  desire  have  the  same  cause,  and  the  same  end  in  view. 

During  the  first  few  months  the  novelty  of  a  secluded  life, 
the  surprises  of  learning,  the  handiworks  she  was  taught,  the 
practices  of  religion,  the  fervency  of  a  holy  resolve,  the  gentle 
affection  she  called  forth,  and  the  exercise  of  the  faculties  of 
her  awakened  intelligence,  all  helped  to  repress  her  memory, 
even  the  effort  she  made  to  acquire  a  new  one,  for  she  had  as 


THE  HARLOT^S  PROGRESS.  45 

much  to  unlearn  as  to  learn.  There  is  more  than  one  form  of 
memory :  the  body  and  mind  have  each  their  own  ;  home- 
sickness, nostalgia,  for  instance,  is  a  malady  of  the  physical 
memory.  Thus,  during  the  third  month,  the  vehemence  of 
this  virgin  soul,  soaring  to  paradise  on  outspread  wings,  was 
not  indeed  quelled,  but  fettered  by  a  dull  rebellion,  of  which 
Esther  herself  did  not  know  the  cause.  Like  the  Scottish 
sheep,  she  wanted  to  pasture  in  solitude,  she  could  not  con- 
quer the  instincts  begotten  of  debauchery. 

Was  it  that  the  foul  ways  of  the  Paris  she  had  abjured  were 
calling  her  back  to  them  ?  Did  the  chains  of  the  hideous  habits 
she  had  renounced  cling  to  her  by  forgotten  rivets,  and  was 
she  feeling  them,  as  old  soldiers  suffer  still,  the  surgeons  tell 
us,  in  the  limbs  they  have  lost?  Had  vice  and  excess  so 
soaked  into  her  marrow  that  the  holy  waters  had  not  yet 
exorcised  the  devil  lurking  there  ?  Was  the  sight  of  him  for 
whom  her  angelic  efforts  were  made  necessary  to  the  poor 
soul,  whom  God  would  surely  forgive  for  mingling  human  and 
sacred  love?  One  had  led  to  the  other.  Was  there  some 
transposition  of  the  vital  force  in  her  involving  her  in  inevi- 
table suffering?  Everything  is  doubtful  and  obscure  in  a  case 
which  science  scorns  to  study,  regarding  the  subject  as  too  im- 
moral and  too  compromising,  as  if  the  physician  and  the  writer, 
the  priest  and  the  political  student,  were  not  above  all  suspi- 
cion. However,  a  doctor  who  was  stopped  by  death  had  the 
courage  to  begin  an  investigation  which  he  left,  alas !  un- 
finished. 

Perhaps  the  dark  depression  to  which  Esther  fell  a  victim, 
and  which  cast  a  gloom  over  her  happy  life,  was  due  to  all 
these  causes ;  and  perhaps,  unable  as  she  was  to  suspect  them 
herself,  she  suffered  as  sick  creatures  suffer  who  know  nothing 
of  medicine  or  surgery. 

The  fact  is  strange.  Wholesome  and  abundant  food  in  the 
place  of  bad  and  inflammatory  nourishment  did  not  sustain 
Esther.  A  pure  and  regular  life,  divided  between  recreation 


46  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

and  studies  intentionally  abridged,  taking  the  place  of  a  dis- 
orderly existence  of  which  the  pleasures  and  the  pains  were 
equally  horrible,  exhausted  the  convent-boarder.  The  coolest 
rest,  the  calmest  nights,  taking  the  place  of  crushing  fatigue 
and  the  most  torturing  agitation,  gave  her  low  fever,  in  which 
the  common  symptoms  were  imperceptible  to  the  nursing 
sister's  eye  or  finger.  In  fact,  virtue  and  happiness  following 
on  evil  and  misfortune,  security  in  the  stead  of  anxiety,  were 
as  fatal  to  Esther  as  her  past  wretchedness  would  have  been 
to  her  young  companions.  Born  in  corruption,  implanted 
therein,  she  had  grown  up  in  it.  That  infernal  home  still 
had  a  hold  on  her,  in  spite  of  the  commands  of  a  despotic 
will.  What  she  loathed  was  life  to  her,  what  she  loved  was 
killing  her. 

Her  faith  had  become  so  ardent  that  her  piety  was  a  delight 
to  those  about  her.  She  loved  to  pray.  She  had  opened 
her  spirit  to  the  lights  of  true  religion,  and  received  it  with- 
out an  effort  or  a  doubt.  The  priest  who  was  her  director 
was  delighted  with  her.  Still,  at  every  turn  her  body  resisted 
the  spirit. 

To  please  a  whim  of  Madame  de  Maintenon's,  who  fed 
them  with  scraps  from  the  royal  table,  some  carp  were  taken 
out  of  a  muddy  pool  and  placed  in  a  marble  basin  of  bright, 
clean  water.  The  carp  perished.  The  animals  might  be 
sacrificed,  but  man  could  never  infect  them  with  the  leprosy 
of  flattery.  A  courtier  remarked  at  Versailles  on  this  mute 
resistance.  "  They  are  like  me,"  said  the  uncrowned  queen  ; 
"  they  pine  for  their  obscure  mud." 

This  speech  epitomizes  Esther's  story. 

At  times  the  poor  girl  was  driven  to  run  about  the  spiendid 
convent  gardens ;  she  hurried  from  tree  to  tree,  she  rushed 
into  the  darkest  nooks — seeking?  What  ?  She  did  not  know, 
but  she  fell  a  prey  to  the  demon ;  she  carried  on  a  flirtation 
with  the  trees,  she  appealed  to  them  in  unspoken  words. 
Sometimes,  in  the  evening,  she  stole  along  under  the  walls, 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  47 

like  a  snake,  without  any  shawl  over  her  bare  shoulders. 
Often  in  chapel,  during  the  service,  she  remained  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  crucifix,  melted  to  tears ;  the  others  admired 
her ;  but  she  was  crying  with  rage.  Instead  of  the  sacred 
images  she  hoped  to  see,  those  glaring  nights  when  she  had 
led  some  orgy  as  Habeneck  leads  a  Beethoven  symphony  at 
the  Conservatoire — nights  of  laughter  and  lasciviousness,  with 
vehement  gestures,  inextinguishable  laughter,  rose  before  her, 
frenzied,  furious,  and  brutal.  She  was  as  mild  to  look  upon 
as  a  virgin  that  clings  to  earth  alone  by  her  woman's  shape ; 
within  raged  an  imperial  Messalina. 

She  alone  knew  the  secret  of  this  struggle  between  the  devil 
and  the  angel.  When  the  superior  reproved  her  for  having 
done  her  hair  more  fashionably  than  the  rule  of  the  house 
allowed,  she  altered  it  with  prompt  and  beautiful  submission  ; 
she  would  have  cut  her  hair  off  if  the  mother  had  required  it 
of  her.  This  moral  homesickness  was  truly  pathetic  in  a 
girl  who  would  rather  have  perished  than  have  returned  to 
the  depths  of  impurity.  She  grew  pale  and  altered  and  thin. 
The  superior  gave  her  shorter  lessons,  and  called  the  interest- 
ing creature  to  her  room  to  question  her.  But  Esther  was 
happy ;  she  enjoyed  the  society  of  her  companions ;  she  felt 
no  pain  in  any  vital  part ;  still,  it  was  vitality  itself  that  was 
attacked.  She  regretted  nothing ;  she  wanted  nothing.  The 
superior,  puzzled  by  her  boarder's  answers,  did  not  know 
what  to  think  when  she  saw  her  pining  under  consuming 
debility. 

The  doctor  was  called  in  when  the  girl's  condition  seemed 
serious;  but  this  doctor  knew  nothing  of  Esther's  previous 
life,  and  could  not  guess  it ;  he  found  every  organ  sound,  the 
pain  could  not  be  localized.  The  invalid's  replies  were  such 
as  to  upset  every  hypothesis.  There  remained  one  way  of 
clearing  up  the  learned  man's  doubts,  which  now  lighted  on  a 
frightful  suggestion  ;  but  Esther  obstinately  refused  to  submit 
to  a  medical  examination. 


48  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

In  this  difficulty  the  superior  appealed  to  the  Abbe  Herrera. 
The  Spaniard  came,  saw  that  Esther's  condition  was  desperate, 
and  took  the  physician  aside  for  a  moment.  After  this  confi- 
dential interview,  the  man  of  science  told  the  man  of  faith 
that  the  only  cure  lay  in  a  journey  to  Italy.  The  abbe  would 
not  hear  of  such  a  journey  before  Esther's  baptism  and  first 
communion. 

"  How  long  will  it  be  till  then  ?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"A  month,"  replied  the  superior. 

"She  will  be  dead,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Yes,  but  in  a  state  of  grace  and  salvation,"  said  the 
abbe. 

In  Spain  the  religious  question  is  supreme,  above  all  polit- 
ical, civil,  or  vital  considerations;  so  the  physician  did  not 
answer  the  Spaniard.  He  turned  to  the  mother  superior,  but 
the  terrible  abbe  took  him  by  the  arm  and  stopped  him. 

"  Not  a  word,  monsieur  !  "  said  he. 

The  doctor,  though  a  religious  man  and  a  Monarchist, 
looked  at  Esther  with  an  expression  of  tender  pity.  The  girl 
was  as  lovely  as  a  lily  drooping  on  its  stem. 

"  May  the  good  God  help  her,  then  !  "  he  exclaimed  as  he 
went  away. 

On  the  very  day  of  this  consultation,  Esther  was  taken  by 
her  protector  to  the  Rocher  de  Cancale,  a  famous  restaurant, 
for  his  wish  to  save  her  had  suggested  strange  expedients  to 
the  priest.  He  tried  the  effect  of  two  excesses — an  excellent 
dinner,  which  might  remind  the  poor  child  of  past  orgies ; 
and  the  opera,  which  would  give  her  mind  some  images  of 
worldliness.  His  despotic  authority  was  needed  to  tempt  the 
young  saint  to  such  profanation.  Herrera  disguised  himself 
so  effectually  as  a  military  man  that  Esther  hardly  recognized 
him  ;  he  took  care  to  make  his  companion  wear  a  veil,  and 
put  her  in  a  box  where  she  was  hidden  from  all  eyes. 

This  palliative,  which  had  no  risks  for  innocence  so  sin- 
cerely regained,  soon  lost  its  effect.  The  convent-boarder 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  49 

viewed  her  protector's  dinners  with  disgust,  had  a  religious 
aversion  for  the  theatre,  and  relapsed  into  melancholy. 

"She  is  dying  of  love  for  Lucien,"  said  Herrera  to  him- 
self; he  had  wanted  to  sound  the  depths  of  this  soul,  and 
know  how  much  could  be  exacted  from  it. 

So  the  moment  came  when  the  poor  child  was  no  longer 
upheld  by  moral  force,  and  the  body  was  about  to  break  down. 
The  priest  calculated  the  time  with  the  hideous  practical 
sagacity  formerly  shown  by  executioners  in  the  art  of  torture. 
He  found  his  protege  in  the  garden,  sitting  on  a  bench  under 
a  trellis  on  which  the  April  sun  fell  gently ;  she  seemed  to  be 
cold  and  trying  to  warm  herself;  her  companions  looked  with 
interest  at  her  pallor  as  of  a  faded  plant,  her  eyes  like  those 
of  a  dying  gazelle,  her  drooping  attitude.  Esther  rose  and 
went  to  meet  the  Spaniard  with  a  lassitude  that  showed  how 
little  life  there  was  in  her,  and,  it  may  be  added,  how  little 
care  to  live.  This  hapless  outcast,  this  wild  and  wounded 
swallow,  moved  Carlos  Herrera  to  compassion  for  the  second 
time.  The  gloomy  minister,  whom  God  should  have  employed 
only  to  carry  out  His  revenges,  received  the  sick  girl  with 
a  smile,  which  expressed,  indeed,  as  much  bitterness  as  sweet- 
ness, as  much  vengeance  as  charity.  Esther,  practiced  in 
meditation,  and  used  to  revulsions  of  feeling  since  she  had  led 
this  almost  monastic  life,  felt  on  her  part,  for  the  second 
time,  distrust  of  her  protector ;  but,  as  on  the  former  occasion, 
his  speech  reassured  her. 

"  Well,  my  dear  child,"  said  he,  "  and  why  have  you  never 
spoken  to  me  of  Lucien  ?  " 

"I  promised  you,"  she  said,  shuddering  convulsively  from 
head  to  foot ;  "I  swore  to  you  that  I  would  never  breathe  his 
name." 

"And  yet  you  have  not  ceased  to  think  of  him? " 

"That,  monsieur,  is  the  only  fault  I  have  committed.     I 
think  of  him  always  ;  and,  just  as  you  came,  I  was  saying  his 
name  to  myself." 
4 


50  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Absence  is  killing  you  ?  " 

Esther's  only  answer  was  to  hang  her  head  as  the  sick  do 
who  already  scent  the  breath  of  the  grave. 

"If  you  could  see  him ?  "  said  he. 

"  It  would  be  life  !  "  she  said. 

"  And  do  you  think  of  him  only  spiritually  ? ' 

"Ah,  monsieur,  love  cannot  be  dissected  !  " 

"Child  of  an  accursed  race!  I  have  done  everything  to 
save  you ;  I  send  you  back  to  your  fate.  You  shall  see  him 
again." 

"Why  insult  my  happiness?  Can  I  not  love  Lucien  and 
be  virtuous?  Am  I  not  ready  to  die  here  for  virtue,  as  I 
should  be  ready  to  die  for  him?  Am  I  not  dying  for  these 
two  fanaticisms — for  virtue,  which  was  to  make  me  worthy  of 
him,  and  for  him  who  flung  me  into  the  embrace  of  virtue? 
Yes,  and  ready  to  die  without  seeing  him  or  to  live  by  seeing 
him.  God  is  my  judge." 

The  color  had  mounted  to  her  face,  her  whiteness  had  re- 
covered its  amber  warmth.  Esther  looked  beautiful  again. 

"  The  day  after  that  on  which  you  are  washed  in  the  waters 
of  baptism  you  shall  see  Lucien  once  more ;  and  if  you  think 
you  can  live  in  virtue  by  living  for  him,  you  shall  part  no 
more." 

The  priest  was  obliged  to  lift  up  Esther,  whose  knees  failed 
her;  the  poor  child  dropped  as  if  the  ground  had  slipped  from 
under  her  feet.  The  abbe  seated  her  on  a  bench  ;  and  when 
she  could  speak  again,  she  asked  him — 

"Why  not  to-day?" 

"  Do  you  want  to  rob  monseigneur  of  the  triumph  of  your 
baptism  and  conversion  ?  You  are  too  close  to  Lucien  not  to 
be  far  from  God." 

"Yes,  I  was  not  thinking " 

"You  will  never  be  of  any  religion, "'said  the  priest,  with 
a  touch  of  the  deepest  irony. 

"  God  is  good,"  said  she ;   "  He  can  read  my  heart." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  51 

Conquered  by  the  exquisite  artlessness  that  shone  in  her  look, 
by  her  tone  of  voice,  her  attitude  and  gestures,  Herrera  kissed 
her  on  the  forehead  for  the  first  time. 

"  Your  libertine  friends  named  you  well ;  you  would  bewitch 
God  the  Father.  A  few  days  more  must  pass,  and  then  you 
will  both  be  free." 

"  Both  !  "  she  echoed  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy. 

This  scene,  observed  from  a  distance,  struck  pupils  and 
superiors  alike ;  they  fancied  they  had  looked  on  at  a  miracle 
as  they  compared  Esther  with  herself.  She  was  completely 
changed ;  she  was  alive.  She  reappeared  her  natural  self,  all 
love,  sweet,  coquettish,  playful,  and  gay;  in  short,  it  was  a 
resurrection. 

Herrera  lived  in  the  Rue  Cassette,  near  Saint-Sulpice,  the 
church  to  which  he  was  attached.  This  building,  hard  and 
stern  in  style,  suited  this  Spaniard,  whose  discipline  was  that 
of  the  Dominicans.  A  lost  son  of  Ferdinand  VII. 's  astute 
policy,  he  devoted  himself  to  the  cause  of  the  constitution, 
knowing  that  this  devotion  could  never  be  rewarded  till  the 
restoration  of  the  Rey  netto.  Carlos  Herrera  had  thrown 
himself,  body  and  soul,  into  the  Camarilla  at  the  moment 
when  the  Cortes  seemed  likely  to  stand  and  hold  their  own. 
To  the  world  this  conduct  seemed  to  proclaim  a  superior 
soul.  The  Due  d'Angoulgme's  expedition  had  been  carried 
out,  King  Ferdinand  was  on  the  throne,  and  Carlos  Herrera 
did  not  go  to  claim  the  reward  of  his  services  at  Madrid.  For- 
tified against  curiosity  by  his  diplomatic  taciturnity,  he  as- 
signed as  his  reason  for  remaining  in  Paris  his  strong  affection 
for  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  to  which  the  young  man  already 
owed  the  King's  patent  permitting  him  to  take  the  name  and 
arms  of  his  mother's  family. 

Herrera  lived  very  obscurely,  as  priests  employed  on  secret 
missions  traditionally  live.  He  fulfilled  his  religious  duties 
at  Saint-Sulpice,  never  went  out  but  on  business,  and  then 


52  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS, 

after  dark,  and  in  a  hackney-coach.  His  day  was  filled  up 
with  a  siesta  in  the  Spanish  fashion,  which  arranges  for  sleep 
between  the  two  chief  meals,  and  so  occupies  the  hours  when 
Paris  is  in  a  busy  turmoil.  The  Spanish  cigar  also  played  its 
part,  and  consumed  time  as  well  as  tobacco.  Laziness  is  a 
mask  as  gravity  is,  and  that  again  is  laziness. 

Herrera  lived  on  the  second  floor  in  one  wing  of  the  house, 
and  Lucien  occupied  the  other  wing.  The  two  apartments 
were  separated  and  joined  by  a  large  reception-room  of  antique 
magnificence,  suitable  equally  to  the  grave  priest  and  to  the 
young  poet.  The  courtyard  was  gloomy;  large,  thick  trees 
shaded  the  garden.  Silence  and  reserve  are  always  found  in 
the  dwellings  chosen  by  priests.  Herrera's  lodging  may  be 
described  in  one  word — a  cell.  Lucien's  splendid  with  luxury, 
and  furnished  with  every  refinement  of  comfort,  combined 
everything  that  the  elegant  life  of  a  dandy  demands — a  poet, 
a  writer,  ambitious  and  dissipated,  at  once  vain  and  vain- 
glorious, utterly  heedless,  and  yet  wishing  for  order,  one  of 
those  incomplete  geniuses  who  have  some  power  to  wish,  to 
conceive — which  is  perhaps  the  same  thing — but  no  power  at 
all  to  execute. 

These  two,  Lucien  and  Herrera,  formed  a  body  politic. 
This,  no  doubt,  was  the  secret  of  their  union.  Old  men  in 
whom  the  activities  of  life  have  been  uprooted  and  transplanted 
to  the  sphere  of  interest  often  feel  the  need  of  a  pleasing 
instrument,  a  young  and  impassioned  actor,  to  carry  out  their 
schemes.  Richelieu,  too  late,  found  a  handsome  pale  face 
with  a  young  mustache  to  cast  in  the  way  of  women  whom  he 
wanted  to  amuse.  Misunderstood  by  giddy-pated  younger 
men,  he  was  compelled  to  banish  his  master's  mother  and 
terrify  the  Queen,  after  having  tried  to  make  each  fall  in  love 
with  him,  though  he  was  not  cut  out  to  be  loved  by  queens. 

Do  what  we  will,  always,  in  the  course  of  an  ambitious  life, 
we  find  a  woman  in  the  way  just  when  we  least  expect  such  an 
obstacle.  However  great  a  political  man  may  be,  he  always 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  53 

needs  a  woman  to  set  against  a  woman,  just  as  the  Dutch  use 
a  diamond  to  cut  a  diamond.  Rome  at  the  height  of  its 
power  yielded  to  this  necessity.  And  observe  how  immeasur- 
ably more  imposing  was  the  life  of  Mazarin,  the  Italian  car- 
dinal, than  that  of  Richelieu,  the  French  cardinal.  Riche- 
lieu met  with  opposition  from  the  great  nobles,  and  he  applied 
the  axe ;  he  died  in  the  flower  of  his  success,  worn  out  by 
this  duel,  for  which  he  had  only  a  Capuchin  monk  as  his 
second.  Mazarin  was  repulsed  by  the  citizen  class  and  the 
nobility,  armed  allies  who  sometimes  victoriously  put  royalty 
to  flight ;  but  Anne  of  Austria's  devoted  servant  took  off  no 
heads,  he  succeeded  in  vanquishing  the  whole  of  France,  and 
trained  Louis  XIV.,  who  completed  Richelieu's  work  by 
strangling  the  nobility  with  gilded  cords  in  the  grand  Se- 
raglio of  Versailles.  Madame  de  Pompadour  dead,  Choiseul 
fell! 

Had  Herrera  soaked  his  mind  in  these  high  doctrines? 
Had  he  judged  himself  at  an  earlier  age  than  Richelieu? 
Had  he  chosen  Lucien  to  be  his  Cinq-Mars,  but  a  faithful 
Cinq-Mars  ?  No  one  could  answer  these  questions  or  measure 
this  Spaniard's  ambition,  as  no  one  could  foresee  what  his  end 
might  be.  These  questions,  asked  by  those  who  were  able  to 
see  anything  of  this  coalition,  which  was  long  kept  a  secret, 
might  have  unveiled  a  horrible  mystery  which  Lucien  him- 
self had  known  but  a  few  days.  Carlos  was  ambitious  for 
two :  that  was  what  his  conduct  made  plain  to  those  persons 
who  knew  him,  and  who  all  imagined  that  Lucien  was  the 
priest's  illegitimate  son. 

Fifteen  months  after  Lucien's  reappearance  at  the  opera- 
ball  which  led  him  too  soon  into  a  world  where  the  abbe  had 
not  wished  to  see  him  till  he  should  have  fully  armed  him 
against  it,  he  had  three  fine  horses  in  his  stable,  a  coupe  for 
evening  use,  a  cab  and  a  tilbury  to  drive  by  day.  He  dined 
out  every  day.  Herrera's  foresight  was  justified ;  his  pupil 
was  carried  away  by  dissipation ;  he  thought  it  necessary  to 


54  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

effect  some  diversion  in  the  frenzied  passion  for  Esther  that 
the  young  man  still  cherished  in  his  heart.  After  spending 
something  like  forty  thousand  francs  in  folly,  all  had  brought 
Lucien  back  with  increased  eagerness  to  La  Torpille;  he 
searched  for  her  persistently ;  and,  as  he  could  not  find  her, 
she  became  to  him  what  game  is  to  the  sportsman. 

Could  Herrera  understand  the  nature  of  a  poet's  love  ? 

When  once  this  feeling  has  mounted  to  the  brain  of  one  of 
these  great  little  men,  after  firing  his  heart  and  absorbing  his 
senses,  the  poet  becomes  as  far  superior  to  humanity  through 
love  as  he  already  is  through  the  power  of  his  imagination. 
A  freak  of  intellectual  heredity  has  given  him  the  faculty  of 
expressing  nature  by  imagery,  to  which  he  gives  the  stamp 
both  of  sentiment  and  of  thought,  and  he  lends  his  love  the 
wings  of  his  spirit;  he  feels,  and  he  paints,  he  acts  and  medi- 
tates, he  multiplies  his  sensations  by  thought,  present  felicity 
becomes  threefold  through  aspiration  for  the  future  and  mem- 
ory of  the  past ;  and  with  it  he  mingles  the  exquisite  delights 
of  the  soul,  which  make  him  the  prince  of  artists.  Then  the 
poet's  passion  becomes  a  fine  poem  in  which  human  proportion 
is  often  set  at  naught.  Does  not  the  poet  then  place  his 
mistress  far  higher  than  women  crave  to  sit  ?  Like  the  sublime 
Knight  of  la  Mancha,  he  transfigures  a  peasant-girl  to  be  a 
princess.  He  uses  for  his  own  behoof  the  wand  with  which 
he  touches  everything,  turning  it  into  a  wonder,  and  thus 
enhances  the  pleasure  of  loving  by  the  glorious  glamour  of  the 
ideal. 

Such  a  love  is  the  very  essence  of  passion.  It  is  extreme  in 
all  things,  in  its  hopes,  in  its  despair,  in  its  rage,  in  its  melan- 
choly, in  its  joy ;  it  flies,  it  leaps,  it  crawls ;  it  is  not  like  any 
of  the  emotions  known  to  ordinary  men  ;  it  is  to  every-day  love 
what  the  perennial  Alpine  torrent  is  to  the  lowland  brook. 
These  splendid  geniuses  are  so  rarely  understood  that  they 
spend  themselves  in  hopes  deceived  ;  they  are  exhausted  by 
the  search  for  their  ideal  mistress,  and  almost  always  die 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  55 

like  gorgeous  insects  splendidly  adorned  for  their  love-festival 
by  the  most  poetical  of  nature's  inventions,  and  crushed  under 
the  foot  of  a  passer-by.  But  there  is  another  danger !  When 
they  meet  with  the  form  that  answers  to  their  soul,  and  which 
not  infrequently  is  that  of  a  baker's  wife,  they  do  as  Raphael 
did,  as  the  beautiful  insect  does,  they  die  in  the  Fornarina's 
arms. 

Lucien  was  at  this  pass.  His  poetical  temperament,  exces- 
sive in  all  things,  in  good  as  in  evil,  had  discerned  the  angel 
in  this  girl,  who  was  tainted  by  corruption  rather  than  corrupt ; 
he  always  saw  her  white,  winged,  pure,  and  mysterious,  as  she 
had  made  herself  for  him,  understanding  that  he  would  have 
her  so. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  month  of  May,  1825,  Lucien  had 
lost  all  his  good  spirits ;  he  never  went  out,  dined  daily  with 
Herrera,  sat  pensive,  read  volumes  of  diplomatic  treatises, 
squatted  Turkish-fashion  on  a  divan,  and  smoked  three  or  four 
hookahs  a  day.  His  groom  had  more  to  do  in  cleaning  and 
perfuming  the  tubes  of  this  noble  pipe  than  in  currying  and 
brushing  down  the  horses'  coats,  and  dressing  them  with 
cockades  for  driving  in  the  Bois.  As  soon  as  the  Spaniard 
saw  Lucien  pale,  and  detected  a  malady  in  the  frenzy  of  sup- 
pressed passion,  he  determined  to  read  to  the  bottom  of  this 
man's  heart  on  which  he  had  now  founded  his  own  life. 

One  fine  evening,  when  Lucien,  lounging  in  an  armchair,  was 
mechanically  contemplating  the  hues  of  the  setting  sun  through 
the  trees  in  the  garden,  blowing  up  the  mist  of  scented  smoke 
in  slow,  regular  clouds,  as  pensive  smokers  are  wont,  he  was 
roused  from  his  reverie  by  hearing  a  deep  sigh.  He  turned 
and  saw  the  abbe  standing  by  him  with  folded  arms. 

"  So  you  are  there  !  "  said  the  poet. 

"And  for  some  time,"  said  the  priest,  "  my  thoughts  have 
been  following  the  wide  sweep  of  yours."  Lucien  understood 
his  meaning. 

"  I  have  never  affected  to  have  an  iron  nature  such  as  yours 


56  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

is.  To  me  life  is  by  turns  paradise  and  hell ;  when  by  chance 
it  is  neither,  it  bores  me ;  and  I  am  bored ' ' 

"How  can  you  be  bored  when  you  have  such  splendid 
prospects  before  you?  " 

' '  If  I  have  no  faith  in  those  prospects,  or  if  they  are  veiled 
too  much?  " 

"  Do  not  talk  nonsense,"  said  the  priest.  "  It  would  be 
far  more  worthy  of  you  and  of  me  that  you  should  open  your 
heart  to  me.  There  is  now  that  between  us  which  ought  never 
to  have  come  between  us — a  secret.  This  secret  has  subsisted 
for  sixteen  months.  You  love " 

"And  what  then?" 

"A  foul  hussy  called  La  Torpille " 

"Well?" 

"  My  boy,  I  told  you,  you  might  have  a  mistress,  but  a  woman 
of  rank,  pretty,  young,  influential,  a  countess  at  least.  I  had 
chosen  Madame  d'Espard  for  you,  to  make  her  the  instrument 
of  your  fortune  without  scruple ;  for  she  would  never  have 
perverted  your  heart,  she  would  have  left  you  free.  To  love 
a  prostitute  of  the  lowest  class  when  you  have  not,  like  kings, 
the  power  to  give  her  high  rank,  is  a  monstrous  blunder." 

"And  am  I  the  first  man  who  has  renounced  ambition  to 
follow  the  lead  of  a  boundless  passion?  " 

"Good  !  "  said  the  priest,  stooping  to  pick  up  the  mouth- 
piece of  the  hookah  which  Lucien  had  dropped  on  the  floor. 
"I  understand  the  retort.  Cannot  love  and  ambition  be 
reconciled?  Child,  you  have  a  mother  in  old  Herrera — a 
mother  who  is  wholly  devoted  to  you " 

"  I  know  it,  old  friend,"  said  Lucien,  taking  his  hand  and 
shaking  it. 

"  You  wished  for  the  toys  of  wealth ;  you  have  them.  You 
want  to  shine ;  I  am  guiding  you  into  the  paths  of  power,  I 
kiss  very  dirty  hands  to  secure  your  advancement,  and  you  will 
get  on.  A  little  while  yet,  and  you  will  lack  nothing  of 
what  can  charm  man  or  woman.  Though  effeminate  in  your 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  57 

caprices,  your  intellect  is  manly.  I  have  dreamed  all  things 
of  you  ;  I  forgive  you  all.  You  have  only  to  speak  to  have 
your  ephemeral  passions  gratified.  I  have  aggrandized  your 
life  by  introducing  into  it  that  which  makes  it  delightful  to 
most  people — the  stamp  of  political  influence  and  dominion. 
You  will  be  as  great  as  you  now  are  small ;  but  we  must  not 
break  the  machine  by  which  we  coin  money.  I  grant  you  all 
you  will  excepting  such  blunders  as  will  destroy  your  future 
prospects.  When  I  can  open  the  drawing-rooms  of  the  Fau- 
bourg Saint-Germain  to  you,  I  forbid  your  wallowing  in  the 
gutter.  Lucien,  I  mean  to  be  an  iron  stanchion  in  your  in- 
terest ;  I  will  endure  everything  from  you,  for  you.  Thus  I 
have  transformed  your  weak  throw  in  the  game  of  life  into  the 
shrewd  stroke  of  a  skillful  player ' ' 

Lucien  looked  up  with  a  start  of  furious  impetuosity. 

"  I  carried  off  La  Torpille." 

"You?"  cried  Lucien. 

In  a  fit  of  animal  rage  the  poet  jumped  up,  flung  the 
jeweled  mouthpiece  in  the  priest's  face,  and  pushed  him  with 
such  violence  as  to  throw  down  that  strong  man. 

"I,"  said  the  Spaniard,  getting  up  and  preserving  his  ter- 
rible gravity. 

His  black  wig  had  fallen  off.  A  bald  skull,  as  shining  as  a 
death's-head,  showed  the  man's  real  countenance.  It  was 
appalling.  Lucien  sat  on  his  divan,  his  hands  hanging  limp, 
overpowered,  and  gazing  at  the  abbe  with  stupefaction. 

"  I  carried  her  off,"  the  priest  repeated. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  her?  You  took  her  away  the  day 
after  the  opera-ball." 

"  Yes,  the  day  after  I  had  seen  a  woman  who  belonged  to 
you  insulted  by  wretches  whom  I  would  not  have  conde- 
scended to  kick  downstairs." 

"Wretches!"  interrupted  Lucien,  "say  rather  monsters, 
compared  with  whom  those  who  are  guillotined  are  angels. 
Do  you  know  what  the  unhappy  Torpille  had  done  for  three 


58  THE   HARLOT'S  PXOGXESS. 

of  them?  One  of  them  was  her  lover  for  two  months.  She 
was  poor,  and  picked  up  a  living  in  the  gutter;  he  had  not  a 
sou;  like  me,  when  you  rescued  me,  he  was  very  near  the 
river;  this  fellow  would  get  up  at  night  and  go  to  the  cup- 
board where  the  girl  kept  the  remains  of  her  dinner  and  eat 
it.  At  last  she  discovered  the  trick;  she  understood  the 
shameful  thing,  and  took  care  to  leave  a  great  deal ;  then  she 
was  happy.  She  never  told  any  one  but  me,  that  night,  com- 
ing home  from  the  opera. 

"  The  second  had  stolen  some  money ;  but  before  the  theft 
was  found  out  she  lent  him  the  sum,  which  he  was  enabled 
to  replace,  and  which  he  always  forgot  to  repay  to  the  poor 
child. 

"  As  to  the  third,  she  made  his  fortune  by  playing  out  a' 
farce  worthy  of  Figaro's  genius.  She  passed  as  his  wife  and 
became  the  mistress  of  a  man  in  power,  who  believed  her  to 
be  the  most  innocent  of  good  citizens.  To  one  she  gave  life, 
to  another  honor,  to  the  third  fortune — what  does  it  all  count 
for  to-day?  And  this  is  how  they  reward  her !  " 

"Would  you  like  to  see  them  dead?"  said  Herrera,  in 
whose  eyes  there  were  tears. 

"  Come,  that  is  just  like  you  !     I  know  you  by  that " 

''Nay,  hear  all,  raving  poet,"  said  the  priest.  "  La  Tor- 
pille  is  no  more." 

Lucien  flew  at  Herrera  to  seize  him  by  the  throat,  with 
such  violence  that  any  other  man  must  have  fallen  backward ; 
but  the  Spaniard's  arm  held  off  his  assailant. 

"Come,  listen,"  said  he  coldly.  "I  have  made  another 
woman  of  her,  chaste,  pure,  well  bred,  religious,  a  perfect 
lady.  She  is  being  educated.  She  can,  if  she  may,  under 
the  influence  of  your  love,  become  a  Ninon,  a  Marion  De- 
lorme,  a  du  Barry,  as  the  journalists  at  the  opera-ball  remarked. 
You  may  proclaim  her  your  mistress,  or  you  may  retire  behind 
a  curtain  of  your  own  creating,  which  will  be  wiser.  By 
either  method  you  will  gain  profit  and  pride,  pleasure  and 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  59 

advancement ;  but  if  you  are  as  great  a  politician  as  you  are  a 
poet,  Esther  will  be  no  more  to  you  than  any  other  woman  of 
the  town ;  for,  later,  perhaps  she  may  help  us  out  of  difficul- 
ties ;  she  is  worth  her  weight  in  gold.  Drink,  but  do  not  get 
tipsy. 

"If  I  had  not  held  the  reins  of  your  passion,  where  would 
you  be  now?  Rolling  with  La  Torpille  in  the  slough  of 
misery  from  which  I  dragged  you.  Here,  read  this,"  said 
Herrera,  as  simply  as  Talma  in  "Manlius,"  which  he  had 
never  seen. 

A  sheet  of  paper  was  laid  on  the  poet's  knees,  and  startled 
him  from  the  ecstasy  and  surprise  with  which  he  had  listened 
to  this  astounding  speech;  he  took  it,  and  read  the  first  letter 
written  by  Mademoiselle  Esther : 

To  Monsieur  I1  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera. 

"My  DEAR  PROTECTOR  : — Will  you  not  suppose  that  grati- 
tude is  stronger  in  me  than  love,  when  you  see  that  the  first 
use  I  make  of  the  power  of  expressing  my  thoughts  is  to  thank 
you,  instead  of  devoting  it  to  pouring  forth  a  passion  that 
Lucien  has  perhaps  forgotten  ?  But  to  you,  divine  man,  I  can 
say  what  I  should  not  dare  to  tell  him,  who,  to  my  joy,  still 
clings  to  earth. 

"Yesterday's  ceremony  has  filled  me  with  treasures  of 
grace,  and  I  place  my  faith  in  your  hands.  Even  if  I  must 
die  far  away  from  my  beloved,  I  shall  die  purified  like  the 
Magdalen,  and  my  soul  will  become  to  him  the  rival  of  his 
guardian  angel.  Can  I  ever  forget  yesterday's  festival.  How 
could  I  wish  to  abdicate  the  glorious  throne  to  which  I  was 
raised  ?  Yesterday  I  washed  away  every  stain  in  the  waters 
of  baptism,  and  received  the  sacred  body  of  my  Redeemer ; 
I  am  become  one  of  His  tabernacles.  At  that  moment  I 
heard  the  songs  of  angels,  I  was  more  than  a  woman,  I  was 
borne  to  a  life  of  light  amid  the  acclamations  of  the  whole 
earth,  admired  by  the  world  in  a  cloud  of  incense  and  prayers 


60  THE   HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

that  were  intoxicating,  adorned  like  a  virgin  for  the  heavenly 
spouse. 

"  Thus  finding  myself  worthy  of  Lucien,  which  I  had  never 
hoped  to  be,  I  abjured  impure  love  and  vowed  to  walk  only 
in  the  paths  of  virtue.  If  my  flesh  is  weaker  than  my  spirit, 
let  it  perish.  Be  the  arbiter  of  my  destiny ;  and  if  I  die,  tell 
Lucien  that  I  died  to  him  when  I  was  born  to  God. 

"ESTHER." 

Lucien  looked  up  at  the  abbe  with  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"You  know  the  rooms  fat  Caroline  Bellefeuille  had,  in  the 
Rue  Taitbout,"  the  Spaniard  said.  "  The  poor  creature,  cast 
off  by  her  magistrate,  was  in  the  greatest  poverty;  she  was 
about  to  be  sold  up.  I  bought  the  place  all  standing,  and 
she  turned  out  with  her  clothes.  Esther,  the  angel  who  aspired 
to  heaven,  has  alighted  there,  and  is  waiting  for  you." 

At  this  moment  Lucien  heard  his  horses  pawing  the  ground 
in  the  courtyard  ;  he  was  incapable  of  expressing  his  admira- 
tion for  a  devotion  which  he  alone  could  appreciate  ;  he 
threw  himself  into  the  arms  of  the  man  he  had  insulted,  made 
amends  for  all  by  a  look  and  the  speechless  effusion  of  his 
feelings.  Then  he  flew  downstairs,  confided  Esther's  address 
to  his  tiger's  ear,  and  the  horses  went  off  as  if  their  master's 
passion  had  inspired  their  legs. 

The  next  day  a  man,  who  by  his  dress  might  have  been 
mistaken  by  the  passers-by  for  a  gendarme  in  disguise,  was 
passing  the  Rue  Taitbout,  opposite  a  house,  as  if  he  were 
waiting  for  some  one  to  come  out ;  he  walked  with  an  agitated 
air.  You  will  often  see  in  Paris  such  vehement  promenaders, 
real  gendarmes  watching  a  recalcitrant  national  guardsman, 
bailiffs  taking  steps  to  effect  an  arrest,  creditors  planning  a 
trick  on  the  debtor  who  has  shut  himself  in,  lovers,  or  jealous 
and  suspicious  husbands,  or  friends  doing  s-entry  for  a  friend  ; 
but  rarely  do  you  meet  a  face  portending  such  coarse  and 
fierce  thoughts  as  animated  that  of  the  gloomy  and  powerful 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  61 

man  who  paced  to  and  fro  under  Mademoiselle  Esther's  win- 
dows with  the  brooding  tramp  of  a  bear  in  its  cage. 

At  noon  a  window  was  opened,  and  a  maidservant's  hand 
was  put  out  to  push  back  the  padded  shutters.  A  few  minutes 
later,  Esther,  in  her  dressing-gown,  came  to  breathe  the  air, 
leaning  on  Lucien  ;  any  one  who  saw  them  might  have  taken 
them  for  the  originals  of  some  pretty  English  vignette.  Esther 
was  the  first  to  recognize  the  basilisk  eyes  of  the  Spanish 
priest ;  and  the  poor  creature,  stricken  as  if  she  had  been 
shot,  gave  a  cry  of  horror. 

"There  is  that  terrible  priest,"  said  she,  pointing  him  out 
to  Lucien. 

"He!"  said  Lucien,  smiling,  "he  is  no  more  a  priest 
than  you  are." 

"  What  then  ?  "  she  said  in  alarm. 

"Why,  an  old  heathen  who  believes  in  neither  God  nor 
devil,"  said  Lucien. 

This  light  thrown  on  the  sham  priest's  secrets,  if  revealed 
to  any  one  less  devoted  than  Esther,  might  have  ruined  Lucien 
for  ever. 

As  they  went  along  the  corridor  from  their  bedroom  to  the 
dining-room,  where  their  breakfast  was  served,  the  lovers  met 
Carlos  Herrera. 

"  What  have  you  come  here  for  ?  "  said  Lucien  roughly  to 
the  abbe. 

"To  bless  you,"  replied  the  audacious  scoundrel,  stopping 
the  pair  and  detaining  them  in  the  little  drawing-room  of  the 
apartment.  "  Listen  to  me,  my  pretty  dears.  Amuse  your- 
selves, be  happy — well  and  good  !  Happiness  at  any  price  is 
my  motto.  But  you,"  he  went  on  to  Esther,  "  you  whom  I 
dragged  from  the  mud,  and  have  soaped  down  body  and  soul, 
you  surely  do  not  dream  that  you  can  stand  in  Lucien's  way? 
As  for  you,  my  boy,"  he  went  on  after  a  pause,  looking  at 
Lucien,  "  you  are  no  longer  poet  enough  to  allow  yourself 
another  Coralie.  This  is  sober  prose.  What  can  be  done 


62  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

with  Esther's  lover  ?  Nothing.  Can  Esther  become  Madame 
de  Rubempre  ?  No. 

"Well,  my  child,"  said  he,  laying  his  hand  on  Esther's, 
and  making  her  shiver  as  if  some  serpent  had  wound  itself 
round  her,  "the  world  must  never  know  of  your  existence. 
Above  all,  the  world  must  never  know  that  a  certain  Made- 
moiselle Esther  loves  Lucien,  and  that  Lucien  is  in  love  with 
her.  These  rooms  are  your  prison,  my  pigeon.  If  you  wish 
to  go  out — and  your  health  will  require  it — you  must  take 
exercise  at  night,  at  hours  when  you  cannot  be  seen  ;  for  your 
youth  and  beauty,  and  the  style  you  have  acquired  at  the  con- 
vent, would  at  once  be  observed  in  Paris.  The  day  when  any 
one  in  the  world,  whoever  it  be,"  he  added  in  an  awful 
voice,  seconded  by  a  dread  look,  "  learns  that  Lucien  is  your 
lover,  or  that  you  are  his  mistress,  that  day  will  be  your  last 
but  one  on  earth.  I  have  procured  that  boy  a  patent  permit- 
ting him  to  bear  the  name  and  arms  of  his  maternal  ancestors. 
Still,  this  is  not  all ;  we  have  not  yet  recovered  the  title  of 
marquis ;  and  to  get  it,  he  must  marry  a  girl  of  good  family, 
in  whose  favor  the  King  will  grant  this  distinction.  Such  an 
alliance  will  get  Lucien  on  in  the  world  and  at  Court.  This 
boy,  of  whom  I  have  made  a  man,  will  be  first  secretary  to  an 
embassy ;  later,  he  shall  be  minister  at  some  German  Court, 
and  God,  or  I — better  still — helping  him,  he  will  take  his  seat 
some  day  on  the  bench  reserved  for  peers " 

"Or  on  the  bench  reserved  for "  Lucien  began,  inter- 
rupting the  man. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  cried  Carlos,  laying  his  broad  hand 
on  Lucien's  mouth.  "Would  you  tell  such  a  secret  to  a 
woman  ?"  he  muttered  in  his  ear. 

"Esther!  A  woman!"  cried  the  poet  of  "Les  Mar- 
guerites." 

"  Still  inditing  sonnets  !  "  said  the  Spaniard.  "  Nonsense  ! 
Sooner  or  later  all  these  angels  relapse  into  being  women,  and 
every  woman  at  moments  is  a  mixture  of  a  monkey  and  a 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  63 

child,  two  creatures  who  can  kill  us  for  fun.  Esther,  my 
jewel,"  said  he  to  the  terrified  girl,  "I  have  secured  as  your 
waitingmaid  a  creature  who  is  as  much  mine  as  if  she  were  my 
daughter.  For  your  cook,  you  shall  have  a  mulatto  woman, 
which  gives  style  to  a  house.  With  Europe  and  Asia  you  can 
live  here  for  a  thousand-franc  note  a  month  like  a  queen — a 
stage  queen.  Europe  has  been  a  dressmaker,  a  milliner,  and 
a  stage  super;  Asia  has  cooked  for  an  epicure  milord.*  These 
two  women  will  serve  you  like  two  fairies." 

Seeing  Lucien  go  completely  to  the  wall  before  this  man, 
who  was  guilty,  at  least,  of  sacrilege  and  forgery,  this  woman, 
sanctified  by  her  love,  felt  an  awful  fear  in  the  depths  of  her 
heart.  She  made  no  reply,  but  dragged  Lucien  into  her 
room,  and  asked  him  : 

"  Is  he  the  devil  ?" 

"He  is  far  worse  to  me  !  "  he  vehemently  replied.  "But 
if  you  love  me,  try  to  imitate  that  man's  devotion  to  me,  and 
obey  him  on  pain  of  death  ! " 

"Of  death  !  "  she  exclaimed,  more  frightened  than  ever. 

"Of  death,"  repeated  Lucien.  "Alas!  my  darling,  no 
death  could  be  compared  with  that  which  would  befall  me 
if " 

Esther  turned  pale  at  his  words,  and  felt  herself  fainting. 

"Well,  well,"  cried  the  sacrilegious  forger,  "  have  you  not 
yet  spelt  out  your  daisy-petals?" 

Esther  and  Lucien  came  out,  and  the  poor  girl,  not  daring 
to  look  at  the  mysterious  man,  said : 

"You  shall  be  obeyed  as  God  is  obeyed,  monsieur." 

"Good,"  said  he.  "You  may  be  very  happy  for  a  time, 
and  you  will  need  only  nightgowns  and  wrappers — that  will 
be  very  economical." 

The  two  lovers  went  on  toward  the  dining-room,  but 
Lucien's  patron  signed  to  the  pretty  pair  to  stop.  And  they 
stopped. 

*  The  French  form  of  the  English  "  my  lord." 


64  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  I  have  just  been  talking  of  your  servants,  my  child,"  said 
he  to  Esther.  "  I  must  introduce  them  to  you." 

The  Spaniard  rang  twice.  The  women  he  had  called  Europe 
and  Asia  came  in,  and  it  was  at  once  easy  to  see  the  reason 
of  these  names. 

Asia,  who  looked  as  if  she  might  have  been  born  in  the 
Island  of  Java,  showed  a  face  to  scare  the  eye,  as  flat  as  a 
board,  with  the  copper  complexion  peculiar  to  Malays,  with  a 
nose  that  looked  as  if  it  had  been  driven  inward  by  some 
violent  pressure.  The  strange  conformation  of  the  maxillary 
bones  gave  the  lower  part  of  this  face  a  resemblance  to  that 
of  the  larger  species  of  apes.  The  brow,  though  sloping,  was 
not  deficient  in  intelligence  produced  by  habits  of  cunning. 
Two  fierce  little  eyes  had  the  calm  fixity  of  a  tiger's,  but  they 
never  looked  you  straight  in  the  face.  Asia  seemed  afraid 
lest  she  might  terrify  people.  Her  lips,  a  dull  blue,  were 
parted  over  prominent  teeth  of  dazzling  whiteness,  but  grown 
across.  The  leading  expression  of  this  animal  countenance 
was  one  of  meanness.  Her  black  hair,  straight  and  greasy- 
looking  like  her  skin,  lay  in  two  shining  bands,  forming  an 
edge  to  a  very  handsome  silk  handkerchief.  Her  ears  were 
remarkably  pretty,  and  graced  with  two  large  dark  pearls. 
Small,  short,  and  squat,  Asia  bore  a  likeness  to  the  grotesque 
figures  the  Chinese  love  to  paint  on  screens,  or,  more  exactly, 
to  the  Hindoo  idols  which  seem  to  be  imitated  from  some 
non-existent  type,  found,  nevertheless,  now  and  again  by 
travelers.  Esther  shuddered  as  she  looked  at  this  monstrosity, 
dressed  out  in  a  white  apron  over  a  stuff  gown. 

"Asia,"  said  the  Spaniard,  to  whom  the  woman  looked  up 
with  a  gesture  that  can  only  be  compared  to  that  of  a  dog  to 
its  master,  "  this  is  your  mistress." 

And  he  pointed  to  Esther  in  her  wrapper. 

Asia  looked  at  the  young  fairy  with  an  almost  distressful 
expression  ;  but  at  the  same  moment  a  flash,  half  hidden  be- 
tween her  thick,  short  eyelashes,  shot  like  an  incendiary  spark 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS,  65 

at  Lucien,  who,  in  a  magnificent  dressing-gown  thrown  open 
over  a  fine  Holland  linen  shirt  and  red  trousers,  with  a 
Turkish  fez  on  his  head,  beneath  which  his  fair  hair  fell  in 
thick  curls,  presented  a  godlike  appearance. 

Italian  genius  could  invent  the  tale  of  Othello;  English 
genius  could  put  it  on  the  stage  ;  but  Nature  alone  reserves 
the  power  of  throwing  into  a  single  glance  an  expression  of 
jealousy  grander  and  more  complete  than  England  and  Italy 
together  could  imagine.  This  look,  seen  by  Esther,  made  her 
clutch  the  Spaniard  by  the  arm,  setting  her  nails  in  it  as  a  cat 
sets  its  claws  to  save  itself  from  falling  into  a  gulf  of  which  it 
cannot  see  the  bottom. 

The  Spaniard  spoke  a  few  words,  in  some  unfamiliar  tongue, 
to  the  Asiatic  monster,  who  crept  on  her  knees  to  Esther's 
feet  and  kissed  them. 

"She  is  not  merely  a  good  cook,"  said  Herrera  to  Esther; 
"she  is  a  pastmaster,  and  might  make  CarSme  mad  with 
jealousy.  Asia  can  do  everything  by  way  of  cooking.  She 
will  turn  you  out  a  simple  dish  of  beans  that  will  make  you 
wonder  whether  the  angels  have  not  come  down  to  add  some 
herb  from  heaven.  She  will  go  to  market  herself  every  morn- 
ing, and  fight  like  the  devil  she  is  to  get  things  at  the  lowest 
price  ;  she  will  tire  out  curiosity  by  silence. 

"You  are  to  be  supposed  to  have  been  in  India,  and  Asia 
will  help  you  to  give  effect  to  this  fiction,  for  she  is  one  of 
those  Parisians  who  are  born  to  be  of  any  nationality  they 
please.  But  I  do  not  advise  that  you  should  give  yourself  out 
to  be  a  foreigner.  Europe,  what  say  you?  " 

Europe  was  a  perfect  contrast  to  Asia,  for  she  was  the 
smartest  waiting-maid  that  Monrose  could  have  hoped  to  see 
as  her  rival  on  the  stage.  Slight,  with  a  scatter-brain  manner, 
a  face  like  a  weasel,  and  a  sharp  nose,  Europe's  features  offered 
to  the  observer  a  countenance  worn  by  the  corruption  of  Paris 
life,  the  unhealthy  complexion  of  a  girl  fed  on  raw  apples, 
lymphatic  but  sinewy,  soft  but  tenacious.  One  little  foot  was 
5 


66  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

set  forward,  her  hands  were  in  her  apron-pockets,  and  she 
fidgeted  incessantly  without  moving,  from  sheer  excess  of 
liveliness.  Grisette  and  stage-super,  in  spite  of  her  youth  she 
must  have  tried  many  trades.  As  full  of  evil  as  a  dozen 
Madelonnettes  put  together,  she  might  have  robbed  her 
parents,  or  sat  on  the  bench  of  the  correctional  police. 

Asia  was  terrifying,  but  you  knew  her  thoroughly  from  the 
first ;  she  descended  in  a  straight  line  from  Locusta ;  whereas 
Europe  filled  you  with  uneasiness,  which  could  not  fail  to 
increase  the  more  you  had  to  do  with  her ;  her  corruption 
seemed  boundless.  You  felt  that  she  could  set  the  devils  by 
the  ears. 

"Madame  might  say  she  had  come  from  Valenciennes," 
said  Europe  in  a  precise  little  voice.  "I  was  born  there. 
Perhaps  monsieur,"  she  added  to  Lucien  in  a  pedantic  tone, 
"  will  be  good  enough  to  say  what  name  he  proposes  to  give 
to  madame?" 

"Madame  van  Bogseck,"  the  Spaniard  put  in,  reversing 
Esther's  name.  "  Madame  is  a  Jewess,  a  native  of  Holland, 
the  widow  of  a  merchant,  and  suffering  from  a  liver-complaint 
contracted  in  Java.  No  great  fortune — not  to  excite  curi- 
osity." 

"Enough  to  live  on — six  thousand  francs  a  year;  and  we 
shall  complain  of  her  stinginess?"  said  Europe. 

" That  is  the  thing,"  said  the  Spaniard,  with  a  bow.  "You 
limbs  of  Satan  !  "  he  went  on,  catching  Asia  and  Europe 
exchanging  a  glance  that  displeased  him,  "  remember  what 
I  have  told  you.  You  are  serving  a  queen ;  you  owe  her  as 
much  respect  as  to  a  monarch  ;  you  are  to  cherish  her  as  you 
would  cherish  a  revenge,  and  be  as  devoted  to  her  as  to  me. 
Neither  the  door-porter,  nor  the  neighbors,  nor  the  other 
inhabitants  of  the  house — in  short,  not  a  soul  on  earth  is  to 
know  what  goes  on  here.  It  is  your  business  to  mislead  curi- 
osity if  any  should  be  roused.  And,  madame,"  he  went  on, 
laying  his  broad  hairy  hapd  on  Esther's  arm,  "madame  must 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  67 

not  commit  the  smallest  imprudence ;  you  must  prevent  it  in 
case  of  need,  but  always  with  perfect  respect. 

"You,  Europe,  are  to  go  out  for  madame  in  anything  that 
concerns  her  dress,  and  you  must  do  her  sewing  from  motives 
of  economy.  Finally,  nobody,  not  even  the  most  insignificant 
creature,  is  ever  to  set  foot  in  this  apartment.  You  two, 
between  you,  must  do  all  there  is  to  be  done. 

"And  you,  my  beauty,"  he  went  on,  speaking  to  Esther, 
"  when  you  want  to  go  out  in  your  carriage  in  the  evening, 
you  can  tell  Europe ;  she  will  know  where  to  find  your  driver, 
for  you  will  have  a  servant  in  livery,  of  my  choosing,  like 
these  two  slaves." 

Esther  and  Lucien  had  not  a  word  ready.  They  listened 
to  the  Spaniard  and  looked  at  the  two  precious  specimens  to 
whom  he  gave  his  orders.  What  was  the  secret  hold  to  which 
he  owed  the  submission  and  servitude  that  were  written  on 
these  two  faces — one  mischievously  recalcitrant,  the  other  so 
malignantly  cruel? 

He  read  the  thoughts  of  Lucien  and  Esther,  who  seemed 
paralyzed,  as  Paul  and  Virginia  might  have  been  at  the  sight 
of  two  dreadful  snakes,  and  he  said  in  a  good-natured  under- 
tone— 

"  You  can  trust  them  as  you  can  me;  keep  no  secrets  from 
them ;  that  will  flatter  them.  Go  to  your  work,  my  little 
Asia,"  he  added  to  the  cook.  "And  you,  my  girl,  lay  another 
plate,"  he  said  to  Europe;  "  the  children  cannot  do  less  than 
ask  papa  to  breakfast." 

When  the  two  women  had  shut  the  door,  and  the  Spaniard 
could  hear  Europe  moving  to  and  fro,  he  turned  to  Lucien 
and  Esther,  and  opening  a  wide  palm,  he  said — 

"I  hold  them  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand." 

The  words  and  gesture  made  his  hearers  shudder. 

"  Where  did  you  pick  them  up  ?  "  cried  Lucien. 

"  What  the  devil !  I  did  not  look  for  them  at  the  foot  of 
the  throne  !  "  replied  the  man.  "  Europe  has  risen  from  the 


68  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

mire,  and  is  afraid  of  sinking  into  it  again.  Threaten  them 
with  Monsieur  1'Abbe  when  they  do  not  please  you,  and  you 
will  see  them  quake  like  mice  when  the  cat  is  mentioned.  I 
am  used  to  taming  wild  beasts,"  he  added  with  a  smile. 

"You  strike  me  as  being  a  demon,"  said  Esther,  clinging 
closer  to  Lucien. 

"  My  child,  I  tried  to  win  you  to  heaven ;  but  a  repentant 
Magdalen  is  always  a  practical  joke  on  the  church.  If  ever 
there  were  one,  she  would  relapse  into  the  courtesan  in  Para- 
dise. You  have  gained  this  much :  you  are  forgotten,  and 
have  acquired  the  manners  of  a  lady,  for  you  learnt  in  the 
convent  what  you  never  could  have  learnt  in  the  ranks  of 
infamy  in  which  you  were  living.  You  owe  me  nothing,"  said 
he,  observing  a  beautiful  look  of  gratitude  on  Esther's  face. 
"I  did  it  all  for  him,"  and  he  pointed  to  Lucien.  "You  are, 
you  will  always  be,  you  will  die  a  prostitute ;  for  in  spite  of 
the  delightful  theories  of  cattle-breeders,  you  can  never,  here 
below,  become  anything  but  what  you  are.  The  man  who 
feels  bumps  is  right.  You  have  the  bump  of  love." 

The  Spaniard,  it  will  be  seen,  was  a  fatalist,  like  Napoleon, 
Mahomet,  and  many  other  great  politicians.  It  is  a  strange 
thing  that  most  men  of  action  have  a  tendency  to  fatalism,  just  as 
most  great  thinkers  have  a  tendency  to  believe  in  Providence. 

"What  I  am,  I  do  not  know,"  said  Esther  with  angelic 
sweetness ;  "  but  I  love  Lucien,  and  shall  die  worshiping 
him." 

"  Come  to  breakfast,"  said  the  Spaniard  sharply.  "And 
pray  God  that  Lucien  may  not  marry  too  soon,  for  then  you 
would  never  see  him  again." 

"  His  marriage  would  be  my  death,"  said  she. 

She  allowed  the  sham  priest  to  lead  the  way,  that  she 
might  stand  on  tiptoe  and  whisper  to  Lucien  without  being 
seen. 

"Is it  your  wish,"  said  she,  "that  I  should  remain  in  the 
power  of  this  man  who  sets  two  hyaenas  to  guard  me?  " 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  69 

Lucien  bowed  his  head. 

The  poor  child  swallowed  down  her  grief  and  affected  glad- 
ness, but  she  felt  cruelly  oppressed.  It  needed  more  than  a 
year  of  constant  and  devoted  care  before  she  was  accustomed 
to  these  two  dreadful  creatures  whom  Carlos  Herrera  called 
the  two  watch-dogs. 

Lucien' s  conduct  since  his  return  to  Paris  had  borne  the 
stamp  of  such  profound  policy  that  it  excited — and  could  not 
fail  to  excite — the  jealousy  of  all  his  former  friends,  on  whom 
he  took  no  vengeance  but  by  making  them  furious  at  his 
success,  at  his  exquisite  "get  up,"  and  his  way  of  keeping 
every  one  at  a  distance.  The  poet,  once  so  communicative, 
so  genial,  had  turned  cold  and  reserved.  De  Marsay,  the 
model  adopted  by  all  the  youth  of  Paris,  did  not  make  a  greater 
display  of  reticence  in  speech  and  deed  than  did  Lucien.  As 
to  brains,  the  journalist  had  ere  now  proved  his  mettle.  De 
Marsay,  against  whom  many  people  chose  to  pit  Lucien, 
giving  a  preference  to  the  poet,  was  small-minded  enough  to 
resent  this. 

Lucien,  now  in  high  favor  with  men  who  secretly  pulled 
the  wires  of  power,  was  so  completely  indifferent  to  literary 
fame  that  he  did  not  care  about  the  success  of  his  romance, 
republished  under  its  real  title,  "  L' Archer  de  Charles  IX.,"  or 
the  excitement  caused  by  his  volume  of  sonnets  called  "  Les 
Marguerites,"  of  which  the  publisher,  Dauriat,  sold  out  the 
edition  in  a  week. 

"It  is  posthumous  fame,"  said  he,  with  a  laugh,  to  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  who  congratulated  him. 

The  terrible  Spaniard  held  his  creature  with  an  iron  hand, 
keeping  him  in  the  road  toward  the  goal  where  the  trumpets 
and  gifts  of  victory  await  patient  politicians.  Lucien  had 
taken  Beaudenord's  bachelor  quarters  on  the  Quai  Malaquais, 
to  be  near  the  Rue  Taitbout,  and  his  adviser  was  lodging 
under  the  same  roof  on  the  fourth  floor.  Lucien  kept  only 


70  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

one  horse  to  ride  and  drive,  a  manservant  and  a  groom. 
When  he  was  not  dining  out,  he  dined  with  Esther. 

Carlos  Herrera  kept  such  a  keen  eye  on  the  service  in  the 
house  on  the  Quai  Malaquais  that  Lucien  did  not  spend  ten 
thousand  francs  a  year,  all  told.  Ten  thousand  more  were 
enough  for  Esther,  thanks  to  the  unfailing  and  inexplicable 
devotion  of  Asia  and  Europe.  Lucien  took  the  utmost  pre- 
cautions in  going  in  and  out  at  the  Rue  Taitbout.  He  never 
came  but  in  a  hackney-coach,  with  the  blinds  down,  and  al- 
ways drove  into  the  courtyard.  Thus  his  passion  for  Esther, 
and  the  very  existence  of  the  establishment  in  the  Rue  Tait- 
bout, being  unknown  to  the  world,  did  him  no  harm  in  his 
connections  or  undertakings.  No  rash  word  ever  escaped 
him  on  this  delicate  subject.  His  mistakes  of  this  sort  with 
regard  to  Coralie,  at  the  time  of  his  first  stay  in  Paris,  had 
given  him  experience. 

In  the  first  place,  his  life  was  marked  by  the  correct  regu- 
larity under  which  many  mysteries  can  be  hidden  ;  he  re- 
mained in  society  every  night  till  one  in  the  morning ;  he 
was  always  at  home  from  ten  till  one  in  the  afternoon  ;  then 
he  drove  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  and  paid  calls  till  five. 
He  was  rarely  to  be  seen  on  foot,  and  thus  avoided  old  ac- 
quaintances. When  some  journalist  or  one  of  his  former 
associates  waved  him  a  greeting,  he  responded  with  a  bow, 
polite  enough  to  avert  annoyance,  but  significant  of  such 
deep  contempt  as  killed  all  French  geniality.  He  had  thus 
very  soon  rid  himself  of  persons  whom  he  would  rather  never 
have  known. 

An  old-established  aversion  kept  him  from  going  to  see 
Madame  d'Espard,  who  often  wished  to  get  him  to  her  house; 
but  when  he  met  her  at  those  of  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse, 
of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  of  the  Comtesse  de  Montcornet 
or  elsewhere,  he  was  always  exquisitely 'polite  to  her.  This 
hatred,  fully  reciprocated  by  Madame  d'Espard,  compelled 
Lucien  to  act  with  prudence ;  but  it  will  be  seen  how  he  had 


THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  71 

added  fuel  to  it  by  allowing  himself  a  stroke  of  revenge,  which 
gained  him  indeed  a  severe  lecture  from  Carlos. 

"You  are  not  yet  strong  enough  to  be  revenged  on  any 
one,  whoever  it  may  be,"  said  the  Spaniard.  "  When  we  are 
walking  under  a  burning  sun  we  do  not  stop  to  gather  even 
the  finest  flowers." 

Lucien  was  so  genuinely  superior,  and  had  so  fine  a  future 
before  him,  that  the  young  men  who  chose  to  be  offended  or 
puzzled  by  his  return  to  Paris  and  his  unaccountable  good 
fortune  were  enchanted  whenever  they  could  do  him  an  ill 
turn.  He  knew  that  he  had  many  enemies,  and  was  well 
aware  of  these  hostile  feelings  among  his  friends.  The  abbe, 
indeed,  took  admirable  care  of  his  adopted  son,  putting  him 
on  his  guard  against  the  treachery  of  the  world  and  the  fatal 
imprudence  of  youth.  Lucien  was  expected  to  tell,  and  did 
in  fact  tell  the  abbe  each  evening,  every  trivial  incident  of  the 
day.  Thanks  to  his  mentor's  advice,  he  put  the  keenest  curi- 
osity—the curiosity  of  the  world — off  the  scent.  Intrenched 
in  the  gravity  of  an  Englishman,  and  fortified  by  the  redoubts 
cast  up  by  diplomatic  circumspection,  he  never  gave  any  one 
the  right  or  the  opportunity  of  seeing  a  corner  even  of  his 
concerns.  His  handsome  young  face  had,  by  practice,  be- 
come as  expressionless  in  society  as  that  of  a  princess  at  a 
ceremonial. 

Toward  the  middle  of  1829  his  marriage  began  to  be  talked 
of  to  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu,*  who 
at  that  time  had  no  less  than  four  daughters  to  provide  for. 
No  one  doubted  that  in  honor  of  such  an  alliance  the  King 
would  revive  for  Lucien  the  title  of  marquis.  This  distinction 
would  establish  Lucien's  fortune  as  a  diplomat,  and  he  would 
probably  be  accredited  as  minister  to  some  German  Court. 
For  the  last  three  years  Lucien's  life  had  been  regular  above 
reproach  ;  indeed,  de  Marsay  had  made  this  remarkable  speech 
about  him — 

*  See  "  Beatrix  "  and  "A  Daughter  of  Eve." 


72  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  That  young  fellow  must  have  a  very  strong  hand  behind 
him." 

Thus  Lucien  was  almost  a  person  of  importance.  His  pas- 
sion for  Esther  had,  in  fact,  helped  him  greatly  to  play  the  part 
of  a  serious  man.  A  habit  of  this  kind  guards  an  ambitious 
man  from  many  follies ;  having  no  connection  with  any  woman 
of  fashion,  he  cannot  be  caught  by  the  reactions  of  mere 
physical  nature  on  his  moral  sense. 

As  to  happiness,  Lucien's  was  the  realization  of  a  poet's 
dreams — a  penniless  poet's  hungering  in  a  garret.  Esther,  the 
ideal  courtesan  in  love,  while  she  reminded  Lucien  of  Coralie, 
the  actress  with  whom  he  had  lived  for  a  year,  completely 
eclipsed  her.  Every  loving  and  devoted  woman  invents  se- 
clusion, incognito,  the  life  of  a  pearl  in  the  depths  of  the  sea ; 
but  to  most  of  them  this  is  no  more  than  one  of  the  delightful 
whims  which  supply  a  subject  for  conversation,  a  proof  of  love 
which  they  dream  of  giving,  but  do  not  give;  whereas  Esther, 
to  whom  her  first  enchantment  was  ever  new,  who  lived  per- 
petually in  the  glow  of  Lucien's  first  incendiary  glance,  never, 
in  four  years,  had  an  impulse  of  curiosity.  She  gave  her 
whole  mind  to  the  task  of  adhering  to  the  terms  of  the  pro- 
gramme prescribed  by  the  sinister  Spaniard.  Nay,  more  !  In 
the  midst  of  intoxicating  happiness  she  never  took  unfair 
advantage  of  the  unlimited  power  that  the  constantly  revived 
desire  of  a  lover  gives  to  the  woman  he  loves  to  ask  Lucien  a 
single  question  regarding  Herrera,  of  whom  indeed  she  lived 
in  constant  awe;  she  dared  not  even  think  of  him.  The 
elaborate  benefactions  of  that  extraordinary  man,  to  whom 
Esther  undoubtedly  owed  her  feminine  accomplishments  and 
her  well-bred  manner,  struck  the  poor  girl  as  advances  on 
account  of  hell. 

"I  shall  have  to  pay  for  all  this  some  day,"  she  would  tell 
herself  with  dismay. 

Every  fine  night  she  went  out  in  a  hired  carriage.  She  was 
driven  with  a  rapidity  no  doubt  insisted  on  by  the  abb6,  in 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  73 

one  or  another  of  the  beautiful  woods  round  Paris,  Boulogne, 
Vincennes,  Romainville,  or  Ville-d'Avray,  often  with  Lucien, 
sometimes  alone  with  Europe.  There  she  could  walk  about 
without  fear ;  for  when  Lucien  was  not  with  her,  she  was  at- 
tended by  a  servant  dressed  like  the  smartest  of  outriders, 
armed  with  a  real  knife,  whose  face  and  brawny  build  alike 
proclaimed  him  a  ruthless  athlete.  This  protector  was  also 
provided,  in  the  fashion  of  English  footmen,  with  a  stick, 
but  such  as  single-stick  players  use,  with  which  they  can  keep 
off  more  than  one  assailant.  In  obedience  to  an  order  of  the 
abbe's,  Esther  had  never  spoken  a  word  to  this  escort.  When 
madame  wished  to  go  home,  Europe  gave  a  call ;  the  man-in- 
waiting  whistled  to  the  driver,  who  was  always  within  hearing. 

When  Lucien  was  walking  with  Esther,  Europe  and  this 
man  remained  about  a  hundred  paces  behind,  like  two  of  the 
infernal  minions  that  figure  in  the  "  Thousand  and  One 
Nights,"  which  enchanters  place  at  the  service  of  their  de- 
votees. 

The  men,  and  yet  more  the  women  of  Paris,  know  nothing 
of  the  charm  of  a  walk  in  the  woods  on  a  fine  night.  The 
stillness,  the  moonlight  effects,  the  solitude,  have  the  soothing 
effect  of  a  bath.  Esther  usually  went  out  at  ten,  walked 
about  from  midnight  till  one  o'clock,  and  came  in  at  half-past 
two.  \  It  was  never  daylight  in  her  rooms  till  eleven.  She 
then  oathed  and  went  through  the  elaborate  toilet  which  is 
unknown  to  most  women,  for  it  takes  up  too  much  time,  and 
is  rarely  carried  out  by  any  but  courtesans,  women  of  the 
town,  or  fine  ladies  who  have  the  day  before  them.  She  was 
only  just  ready  when  Lucien  came,  and  appeared  before  him 
as  a  newly  opened  flower.  Her  only  care  was  that  her  poet 
should  be  happy ;  she  was  his  toy,  his  chattel ;  she  gave  him 
entire  liberty.  She  never  cast  a  glance  beyond  the  circle 
where  she  shone.  On  this  the  abbe  had  insisted,  for  it  was 
part  of  his  profound  policy  that  Lucien  should  have  gallant 
adventures. 


74  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Happiness  has  no  history,  and  the  story-tellers  of  all  lands 
have  understood  this  so  well  that  the  words,  "They  were 
happy,"  are  the  end  of  every  love  tale.  Hence  only  the  ways 
and  means  can  be  recorded  of  this  really  romantic  happiness 
in  the  heart  of  Paris.  It  was  happiness  in  its  loveliest  form, 
a  poem,  a  symphony,  of  four  years'  duration.  Every  woman 
will  exclaim,  "That  was  much  !  "  Neither  Esther  nor  Lucien 
had  ever  said,  "This  is  too  much!"  And  the  formula: 
"They  were  happy,"  was  more  emphatically  true  than  even 
in  a  fairy  tale,  for  "  they  had  no  children." 

So  Lucien  could  coquet  with  the  world,  give  way  to  his 
poet's  caprices,  and,  it  may  be  plainly  admitted,  to  the  neces- 
sities of  his  position.  All  this  time  he  was  slowly  making  his 
way,  and  was  able  to  render  secret  service  to  certain  political 
personages  by  helping  them  in  their  work.  In  such  matters 
he  was  eminently  discreet.  He  cultivated  Madame  de  Serizy's 
circle,  being,  it  was  rumored,  on  the  very  best  terms  with  that 
lady.  Madame  de  Serizy  had  carried  him  off  from  the 
Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  who,  it  was  said,  had  "  thrown 
him  over,"  one  of  the  phrases  by  which  women  avenge  them- 
selves on  happiness  they  envy.  Lucien  was  in  the  lap,  so  to 
speak,  of  the  high  almoner's  set,  and  intimate  with  women 
who  were  the  archbishop's  personal  friends.  He  was  modest 
and  reserved;  he  waited  patiently.  So  de  Marsay's speech — 
de  Marsay  was  now  married,  and  made  his  wife  live  as  re- 
tired a  life  as  Esther — was  significant  in  more  ways  than 
one. 

But  the  submarine  perils  of  such  a  course  as  Lucien's  will 
be  sufficiently  obvious  in  the  course  of  this  chronicle. 

Matters  were  in  this  position  when,  one  fine  night  in  August, 
the  Baron  de  Nucingen  was  driving  back  to  Paris  from  the 
country  residence  of  a  foreign  banker,  settled  in  France,  with 
whom  he  had  been  dining.  The  estate  lay  at  eight  leagues 
from  Paris  in  the  district  of  la  Brie.  Now,  the  baron's  coach- 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  75 

man  having  undertaken  to  drive  his  master  there  and  back 
with  his  own  horses,  at  nightfall  ventured  to  moderate  the 
pace. 

As  they  entered  the  forest  of  Vincennes  the  position  of 
beast,  man,  and  master  was  as  follows:  The  coachman, 
liberally  soaked  in  the  kitchen  of  the  aristocrat  of  the  Bourse, 
was  perfectly  tipsy,  and  slept  soundly,  while  still  holding  the 
reins  to  deceive  other  wayfarers.  The  footman,  seated  be- 
hind, was  snoring  like  a  wooden  top  from  Germany — the  land 
of  little  carved  figures,  of  large  wine-vats,  and  of  humming- 
tops.  The  baron  had  tried  to  think ;  but,  after  passing  the 
bridge  at  Gournay,  the  soft  somnolence  of  digestion  had  sealed 
his  eyes.  The  horses  understood  the  coachman's  plight  from 
the  slackness  of  the  reins;  they  heard  the  footman's  basso 
continue  from  his  perch  behind ;  they  saw  that  they  were 
masters  of  the  situation,  and  took  advantage  of  their  few 
minutes'  freedom  to  make  their  own  pace.  Like  intelligent 
slaves,  they  gave  highway  robbers  the  chance  of  plundering 
one  of  the  richest  capitalists  in  France,  the  most  deeply  cun- 
ning of  the  race  which,  in  France,  have  been  energetically 
styled  lynxes — loups-cerviers.  Finally,  being  independent  of 
control,  and  tempted  by  the  curiosity  which  every  one  must 
have  remarked  in  domestic  animals,  they  stopped  where  four 
roads  met,  face  to  face  with  some  other  horses,  whom  they, 
no  doubt,  asked  in  horses'  language:  "Who  may  you  be? 
What  are  you  doing?  Are  you  happy?  " 

When  the  chaise  stopped,  the  baron  awoke  from  his  nap. 
At  first  he  fancied  that  he  was  still  in  his  friend's  park ;  then 
he  was  startled  by  a  celestial  vision,  which  found  him  un- 
armed with  his  usual  weapon — self-interest.  The  moonlight 
was  brilliant ;  he  could  have  read  by  it — even  an  evening 
paper.  In  the  silence  of  the  forest,  under  this  pure  light,  the 
baron  saw  a  woman,  alone,  who,  as  she  got  into  a  hired  chaise, 
looked  at  the  strange  spectacle  of  this  sleep-stricken  carriage. 
At  the  sight  of  this  angel  the  baron  felt  as  though  a  light  had 


76  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

flashed  into  glory  within  him.  The  young  lady,  seeing  her- 
self admired,  pulled  down  her  veil  with  terrified  haste.  The 
manservant  gave  a  signal  which  the  driver  perfectly  under- 
stood, for  the  vehicle  went  off  like  an  arrow. 

The  old  banker  was  fearfully  agitated ;  the  blood  left  his 
feet  cold  and  carried  fire  to  his  brain,  his  head  sent  the  flame 
back  to  his  heart ;  he  was  choking.  The  unhappy  man  fore- 
saw a  fit  of  indigestion,  but  in  spite  of  that  supreme  terror  he 
stood  up. 

"Follow  qvick,  fery  qvick.  Tam  you,  you  are  ashleep  !  " 
he  cried.  "A  hundert  franc  if  you  catch  up  dat  chaise." 

At  the  words  "  A  hundred  francs,"  the  coachman  woke  up. 
The  servant  behind  heard  them,  no  doubt,  in  his  dreams. 
The  baron  reiterated  his  orders,  the  coachman  urged  the  horses 
to  a  gallop,  and  at  the  Barriere  du  Trone  had  succeeded  in 
overtaking  a  carriage  resembling  that  in  which  Nucingen  had 
seen  the  divine  fair  one,  but  which  contained  a  swaggering 
head-clerk  from  some  first-class  store  and  a  lady  of  the  Rue 
Vivienne. 

This  blunder  filled  the  baron  with  consternation. 

"  If  only  I  had  prought  Chorge  inshtead  of  you,  shtupid 
fool,  he  shall  have  fount  dat  voman,"  said  he  to  the  servant, 
while  the  excise  officers  were  searching  the  carriage. 

"  Indeed,  Monsieur  le   Baron,   the  devil  was  behind  the 
chaise,  I  believe,  disguised  as  an  armed  escort,  and  he  sent 
this  chaise  instead  of  hers." 
"Dere  is  no  such  ting  as  der  teufel,"  said  the  baron. 

The  Baron  de  Nucingen  owned  to  sixty;  he  no  longer  cared 
for  women,  and  for  his  wife  least  of  all.  He  boasted  that  he 
had  never  known  such  love  as  makes  a  fool  of  a  man.  He 
declared  that  he  was  happy  to  have  done  with  women  ;  the 
most  angelic  of  them,  he  frankly  said,  was  not  worth  what  she 
cost,  even  if  you  got  her  for  nothing.  He  was  supposed  to  be 
so  entirely  blase  that  he  no  longer  paid  two  thousand  francs 
a  month  for  the  pleasure  of  being  deceived.  His  eyes  looked 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  77 

coldly  down  from  his  opera-box  on  the  corps  de  ballet ;  never 
a  glance  was  shot  at  the  capitalist  by  any  one  of  that  formidable 
swarm  of  old  young  girls  and  young  old  women,  the  cream  of 
Paris  pleasure. 

Natural  love,  artificial  and  love-of-show  love,  love  based  on 
self-esteem  and  vainty,  love  as  a  display  of  taste,  decent,  con- 
jugal love,  eccentric  love — the  baron  had  paid  for  them  all, 
had  known  them  all  excepting  real  spontaneous  love.  This 
passion  had  now  pounced  down  on  him  like  an  eagle  on  its 
prey,  as  it  did  on  Gentz,  the  confidential  friend  of  his  high- 
ness the  Prince  of  Metternich.  All  the  world  knows  what 
follies  the  old  diplomat  committed  for  Fanny  Elssler,  whose 
rehearsals  took  up  a  great  deal  more  of  his  time  than  the 
concerns  of  Europe. 

The  woman  who  had  just  overthrown  that  iron-bound 
money-box,  called  Nucingen,  had  appeared  to  him  as  one  of 
those  who  are  unique  in  their  generation.  It  is  not  certain 
that  Titian's  mistress,  or  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  Monna  Lisa,  or 
Raphael's  Fornarina  were  as  beautiful  as  this  exquisite  Esther, 
in  whom  not  the  most  practiced  eye  of  the  most  experienced 
Parisian  could  have  detected  the  faintest  trace  of  the  ordinary 
courtesan.  The  baron  was  especially  startled  by  the  noble 
and  stately  air,  the  air  of  a  well-born  woman,  which  Esther, 
beloved,  and  lapped  in  luxury,  elegance,  and  devotedness,  had 
in  the  highest  degree.  Happy  love  is  the  divine  unction  of 
women ;  it  makes  them  all  as  lofty  as  empresses. 

For  eight  nights  in  succession  the  baron  went  to  the  forest 
of  Vincennes,  then  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  to  the  woods  of 
Ville-d' Avray,  to  Meudon,  in  short,  everywhere  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Paris,  but  failed  to  meet  Esther.  That  beautiful 
Jewish  face,  which  he  called  "a  face  out  of  te  Biple,"  was 
always  before  his  eyes.  By  the  end  of  a  fortnight  he  had  lost 
health  and  appetite. 

Delphine  de  Nucingen,  and  her  daughter  Augusta,  whom 
the  baroness  was  now  taking  out,  did  not  at  first  perceive  the 


78  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

change  that  had  come  over  the  baron.  The  mother  and 
daughter  only  saw  him  at  breakfast  in  the  morning  and  at 
dinner  in  the  evening,  when  they  all  dined  at  home,  and  this 
was  only  on  the  evenings  when  Delphine  received  company. 
But  by  the  end  of  two  months,  tortured  by  a  fever  of  impa- 
tience, and  in  a  state  'like  that  produced  by  acute  home- 
sickness, the  baron,  amazed  to  find  his  millions  impotent,  grew 
so  thin,  and  seemed  so  seriously  ill,  that  Delphine  had  secret 
hopes  of  finding  herself  a  widow.  She  pitied  her  husband, 
somewhat  hypocritically,  and  kept  her  daughter  in  seclusion. 
She  bored  her  husband  with  questions;  he  answered  as  Eng- 
lishmen answer,  when  suffering  from  spleen,  hardly  a  word. 

Delphine  de  Nucingen  gave  a  grand  dinner  every  Sunday. 
She  had  chosen  that  day  for  her  receptions,  after  observing 
that  no  people  of  fashion  went  to  the  play,  and  that  the  day 
was  pretty  generally  an  open  one.  The  emancipation  of  the 
storekeeping  and  middle-classes  makes  Sunday  almost  as  tire- 
some in  Paris  as  it  is  deadly  in  London.  So  the  baroness 
invited  the  famous  Desplein  to  dinner,  to  consult  him  in  spite 
of  the  sick  man,  for  Nucingen  persisted  in  asserting  that  he 
was  perfectly  well. 

Keller,  Kastignac,  de  Marsay,  du  Tillet,  all  their  friends 
had  made  the  baroness  understand  that  a  man  like  Nucingen 
could  not  be  allowed  to  die  without  any  notice  being  taken  of 
it  j  his  enormous  business  transactions  demanded  some  care ; 
it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  know  where  he  stood.  These 
gentlemen  also  were  asked  to  dinner,  and  the  Comte  de 
Gondreville,  Francois  Keller's  father-in-law,  the  Chevalier 
d'Espard,  des  Lupeaulx,  Doctor  Bianchon — Desplein's  best 
beloved  pupil — Beaudenord  and  his  wife,  the  Comte  and 
Comtesse  de  Montcornet,  Blondet,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
and  Conti,  and,  finally,  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  for  whom 
Rastignac  had  for  the  last  five  years  manifested  the  warmest 
regard — by  order,  as  the  advertisements  have  it. 

"  We  shall  not  find  it  easy  to  get  rid  of  that  young  fellow," 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  79 

said  Blondet  to  Rastignac,  when  he  saw  Lucien  come  in  hand- 
somer than  ever  and  uncommonly  well  dressed. 

"  It  is  wiser  to  make  friends  with  him,  for  he  is  formidable," 
said  Rastignac. 

"He?"  said  de  Marsay.  "No  one  is  formidable  to  my 
knowledge  but  men  whose  position  is  assured,  and  his  is  unat- 
tacked  rather  than  unattackable  !  Look  here,  what  does  he 
live  on  ?  Where  does  his  money  come  from  ?  He  has,  I  am 
certain,  sixty  thousand  francs  in  debts." 

"  He  has  found  a  friend  in  a  very  rich  Spanish  priest  who 
has  taken  a  fancy  to  him,"  replied  Rastignac. 

"  He  is  going  to  be  married  to  the  eldest  Mademoiselle  de 
Grandlieu,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Chevalier  d'Espard,  "but  they  require 
him  to  buy  an  estate  worth  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year  as 
security  for  the  fortune  he  is  to  settle  on  the  young  lady,  and 
for  that  he  needs  a  million  francs,  which  are  not  to  be  found 
in  any  Spaniard's  shoes." 

"That  is  dear,  for  Clotilde  is  very  ugly,"  said  the  baroness. 

Madame  de  Nucingen  affected  to  call  Mademoiselle  de 
Grandlieu  by  her  Christian  name,  as  though  she,  nee  Goriot, 
frequented  that  society. 

"No,"  replied  du  Tillet,  "the  daughter  of  a  duchess  is 
never  ugly  to  the  like  of  us,  especially  when  she  brings  with 
her  the  title  of  marquis  and  a  diplomatic  appointment.  But 
the  great  obstacle  to  the  marriage  is  Madame  de  S6rizy's 
insane  passion  for  Lucien.  She  must  give  him  a  great  deal  of 
money." 

"  Then  I  am  not  surprised  at  seeing  Lucien  so  serious ;  for 
Madame  de  Serizy  will  certainly  not  give  him  a  million  francs 
to  help  him  to  marry  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu.  He  prob- 
ably sees  no  way  out  of  the  scrape,"  said  de  Marsay. 

"But  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu  worships  him,"  said  the 
Comtesse  de  Montcornet ;  "  and  with  the  young  person's  as- 
sistance, he  may  perhaps  make  better  terms. ' ' 


80  7WE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS, 

"And  what  will  he  do  with  his  sister  and  brother-in-law  at 
AngoulSme?"  asked  the  Chevalier  d'Espard. 

"Well,  his  sister  is  rich,"  replied  Rastignac,  "and  he  now 
speaks  of  her  as  Madame  Sechard  de  Marsac." 

"Whatever  difficulties  there  may  be,  he  is  a  very  good- 
looking  fellow,"  said  Bianchon,  rising  to  greet  Lucien. 

"How  do,  my  dear  fellow?"  said  Rastignac,  shaking 
hands  warmly  with  Lucien. 

De  Marsay  bowed  coldly  after  Lucien  had  first  bowed  to 
him. 

Before  dinner  Desplein  and  Bianchon,  who  studied  the 
baron  while  amusing  him,  convinced  themselves  that  his 
malady  was  entirely  nervous ;  but  neither  could  guess  the 
cause,  so  impossible  did  it  seem  that  this  great  politician  of 
the  money  market  could  be  in  love.  When  Bianchon,  seeing 
nothing  but  love  to  account  for  the  banker's  condition,  hinted 
as  much  to  Delphine  de  Nucingen,  she  smiled  as  a  woman 
who  has  long  known  all  her  husband's  weaknesses.  After 
dinner,  however,  when  they  all  adjourned  to  the  garden,  the 
more  intimate  of  the  party  gathered  round  the  banker,  eager 
to  clear  up  this  extraordinary  case  when  they  heard  Bianchon 
pronounce  that  Nucingen  must  be  in  love. 

"Do  you  know,  baron,"  said  de  Marsay,  "  that  you  have 
grown  very  thin  ?  You  are  suspected  of  violating  the  laws  of 
financial  nature." 

"  Ach,  nefer  !  "  said  the  baron. 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  de  Marsay.  "They  dare  to  say  that 
you  are  in  love." 

"  Dat  is  true,"  replied  Nucingen  piteously ;  "lam  in  lof 
for  somebody  I  do  not  know." 

"You  in  love!  you?  You  are  a  coxcomb!"  said  the 
Chevalier  d'Espard. 

"  In  lof,  at  my  aje  !  I  know  dat  is  too  ridicilous.  But  vat 
can  I  help  it  ?  Dat  is  so." 

"  A  woman  of  the  world  ?  "  asked  Lucien. 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  81 

"  Nay,"  said  de  Marsay.  "  The  baron  would  not  grow  so 
thin  but  for  a  hopeless  love,  and  he  has  money  enough  to  buy 
all  the  women  who  will  or  can  sell  themselves  !  " 

"  I  do  not  know  who  she  is,"  said  the  baron.  "And  as 
Motame  de  Nucingen  is  inside  de  trawing-room,  I  may  say  so, 
dat  till  now  I  have  nefer  known  what  it  is  to  lof.  Lof !  I 
link  it  is  to  grow  tin." 

"And  where  did  you  meet  this  innocent  daisy?"  asked 
Rastignac. 

"  In  a  carriage,  at  mitnight,  in  de  forest  of  Fincennes." 

"  Describe  her,"  said  de  Marsay. 

"A  vhite  cauze  hat,  a  rose  gown,  a  vhite  scharf,  a  vhite  feil 
—a  face  yust  out  of  de  Biple.  Eyes  like  feuer  (fire),  an 
Eastern  color " 

"  You  were  dreaming,"  said  Lucien,  with  a  smile. 

"  Dat  is  true ;  I  vas  shleeping  like  a  pig — a  pig  mil  his 
shkin  full,"  he  added,  "  for  I  vas  on  my  vay  home  from  tin- 
ner at  mine  friends " 

"Was  she  alone?"  said  du  Tillet,  interrupting  him. 

"  Ja,"  said  the  baron  dolefully;  "but  she  had  ein  heiduque 
behind  dat  carriage  and  a  maidshervant " 

"Lucien  looks  as  if  he  knew  her,"  exclaimed  Rastignac, 
seeing  Esther's  lover  smile. 

"  Who  doesn't  know  the  woman  who  would  go  out  at  mid- 
night to  meet  Nucingen?"  said  Lucien,  turning  on  his  heel. 

"  Well,  she  is  not  a  woman  who  is  seen  in  society,  or  the 
baron  would  have  recognized  the  man,"  said  the  Chevalier 
d'Espard. 

"I  have  nefer  seen  him,"  replied  the  baron.  "And  for 
forty  days  now  I  have  had  her  seeked  for  by  de  police,  and 
dey  do  not  find  her." 

"It  is  better  that  she  should  cost  you  a  few  hundred  francs 
than  your  life,"  said  Desplein  ;  "  and,  at  your  age,  a  passion 
without  hope  is  dangerous,  you  might  die  of  it." 

"Ja,  ja,"  replied  the  baron,  addressing  Desplein.     "And 
6 


82  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

vat  I  eat  does  me  no  goot,  de  air  I  breade  feels  to  choke  me. 
I  go  to  de  forest  of  Fincennes  to  see  de  place  vat  I  see  her — 
and  dat  is  all  my  life.  I  could  not  tink  of  de  last  loan — I 
trust  to  my  partners  vat  haf  pity  on  me.  I  could  pay  one 
million  franc  to  see  dat  voman — and  I  should  gain  by  dat,  for 
I  do  nothing  on  de  Bourse.  Ask  du  Tillet." 

"  Very  true,"  replied  du  Tillet ;  "  he  hates  business  ;  he  is 
quite  unlike  himself;  it  is  a  sign  of  death  in  a  man  like  him." 

"  A  sign  of  lof,"  replied  Nucingen;  "and  for  me,  dat  is 
all  de  same  ting." 

The  simple  candor  of  the  old  man,  no  longer  the  stock- 
jobber, who,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  saw  that  something 
was  more  sacred  and  more  precious  than  gold,  really  moved 
these  world-hardened  men;  some  exchanged  smiles;  others 
looked  at  Nucingen  with  an  expression  that  plainly  said  : 
"Such  a  man  to  have  come  to  this!  "  And  then  they  all 
returned  to  the  drawing-room,  talking  over  the  event. 

For  it  was  indeed  an  event  calculated  to  produce  the  greatest 
sensation.  Madame  de  Nucingen  went  into  fits  of  laughter 
when  Lucien  betrayed  her  husband's  secret ;  but  the  baron, 
when  he  heard  his  wife's  sarcasms,  took  her  by  the  arm  and 
led  her  into  the  recess  of  a  window. 

"  Motame,"  said  he  in  an  undertone,  "  have  I  ever  laughed 
at  all  at  your  passions,  that  you  should  laugh  at  mine?  A 
goot  frau  should  help  her  husband  out  of  his  difficulty  vidout 
making  game  of  him  like  vat  you  do." 

From  the  description  given  by  the  old  banker,  Lucien  had 
recognized  his  Esther.  Much  annoyed  that  his  smile  should 
have  been  observed,  he  took  advantage  of  a  moment  when 
coffee  was  served,  and  the  conversation  became  general,  to 
vanish  from  the  scene. 

"What  has  become  of  Monsieur  de  Rubempre?"  said  the 
baroness. 

"  He  is  faithful  to  his  motto:  Quid  me  contincbit?"  said 
Rastignac. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  83 

"Which  means  'Who  can  detain  me?'  or  'I  am  uncon- 
querable,' as  you  choose,"  added  de  Marsay. 

"  Just  as  Monsieur  le  Baron  was  speaking  of  his  unknown 
lady,  Lucien  smiled  in  a  way  that  makes  me  fancy  he  may 
know  her,"  said  Horace  Bianchon,  not  thinking  how  danger- 
ous such  a  natural  remark  might  be. 

"Goot !  "  said  the  banker  to  himself. 

Like  all  despairing  patients,  the  baron  clutched  at  every- 
thing that  seemed  at  all  hopeful ;  he  promised  himself  that  he 
would  have  Lucien  watched  by  some  one  beside  Louchard 
and  his  men — Louchard,  the  sharpest  commercial  detective  in 
Paris — to  whom  he  had  applied  about  a  fortnight  since  on  the 
matter  of  his  mysterious  woman. 

Before  going  home  to  Esther,  Lucien  was  due  at  the  Hotel 
Grandlieu,  to  spend  the  two  hours  which  made  Mademoiselle 
Clotilde  Frederique  de  Grandlieu  the  happiest  girl  in  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain.  But  the  prudence  characteristic  of 
this  ambitious  youth  warned  him  to  inform  Carlos  Herrera 
forthwith  of  the  effect  resulting  from  the  smile  wrung  from 
him  by  the  baron's  description  of  Esther.  The  banker's 
passion  for  Esther  and  the  idea  that  had  occurred  to  him  of 
setting  the  police  to  seek  the  unknown  beauty  were  indeed 
events  of  sufficient  importance  to  be  at  once  communicated  to 
the  man  who  had  sought,  under  a  priest's  robe,  the  shelter 
which  criminals  of  old  could  find  in  a  church.  And  Lucien's 
road  from  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare,  where  Nucingen  at  that  time 
lived,  to  the  Rue  Saint-Dominique,  where  was  the  Hotel 
Grandlieu,  led  him  past  his  lodgings  on  the  Quai  Malaquais. 

Lucien  found  his  formidable  friend  smoking  his  breviary — 
that  is  to  say,  coloring  a  short  pipe  before  retiring  to  bed. 
The  man,  strange  rather  than  foreign,  had  given  up  Spanish 
cigarettes,  finding  them  too  mild. 

"Matters  look  serious,"  said  the  Spaniard,  when  Lucien 
had  told  him  all.  "The  baron,  who  employs  Louchard  to 
hunt  up  the  girl,  will  certainly  be  sharp  enough  to  set  a  spy  at 


84  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

your  heels,  and  everything  will  come  out.  To-night  and  to- 
morrow morning  will  not  give  me  more  than  enough  time  to 
pack  the  cards  for  the  game  I  must  play  against  the  baron ; 
first  and  foremost,  I  must  prove  to  him  that  the  police  cannot 
help  him.  When  our  lynx  has  given  up  all  hope  of  finding 
his  ewe-lamb,  I  will  undertake  to  sell  her  for  all  she  is  worth 
to  him " 

"Sell  Esther!"  cried  Lucien,  whose  first  impulse  was 
always  the  right  one. 

"  Do  you  forget  where  we  stand?  "  cried  Carlos  Herrera. 

Lucien  hung  his  head. 

"No  money  left,"  the  Spaniard  went  on,  "and  sixty  thou- 
sand francs  of  debts  to  be  paid  !  If  you  want  to  marry  Clo- 
tilde  de  Grandlieu,  you  must  invest  a  million  of  francs  in  land 
as  security  for  that  ugly  creature's  settlement.  Well,  then, 
Esther  is  the  quarry  I  mean  to  set  before  that  lynx  to  help  us 
to  ease  him  of  that  million.  That  is  my  concern." 

"Esther  will  never " 

"That  is  my  concern." 

"She  will  die  of  it." 

"  That  is  the  undertaker's  concern.  Beside,  what  then  ?  " 
cried  the  savage,  checking  Lucien's  lamentations  merely  by 
his  attitude.  "How  many  generals  died  in  the  prime  of  life 
for  the  Emperor  Napoleon?"  he  asked,  after  a  short  silence. 
"There  are  always  plenty  of  women.  In  1821  Coralie  was 
unique  in  your  eyes ;  and  yet  you  found  Esther.  After  her 
will  come — do  you  know  who  ? — the  unknown  fair.  And  she 
of  all  women  is  the  fairest,  and  you  will  find  her  in  the  capital 
where  the  Due  de  Grandlieu's  son-in-law  will  be  minister  and 
representative  of  the  King  of  France.  And  do  you  tell  me 
now,  great  baby,  that  Esther  will  die  of  it  ?  Again,  can 
Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu's  husband  keep  Esther  ? 

"You  have  only  to  leave  everything  -to  me;  you  need  not 
take  the  trouble  to  think  at  all ;  that  is  my  concern.  Only 
you  must  do  without  Esther  for  a  week  or  two ;  but  go  to  the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  85 

Rue  Taitbout,  all  the  same.  Come,  be  off  to  bill  and  coo  on 
your  plank  of  salvation,  and  play  your  part  well ;  slip  the 
flaming  note  you  wrote  this  morning  into  Clotilde's  hand,  and 
bring  me  back  a  warm  response.  She  will  recompense  her- 
self for  many  woes  in  writing.  I  take  to  that  girl. 

"You  will  find  Esther  a  little  depressed,  but  tell  her  to 
obey.  We  must  display  our  livery  of  virtue,  our  doublet  of 
honesty,  the  screen  behind  which  all  great  men  hide  their  in- 
famy. I  must  show  off  my  handsomer  self — you  must  never 
be  suspected.  Chance  has  served  us  better  than  my  brain, 
which  has  been  beating  about  in  a  void  for  these  two  months 
past." 

All  the  while  he  was  jerking  out  these  dreadful  sentences, 
one  by  one,  like  pistol-shots,  Carlos  Herrera  was  dressing 
himself  to  go  out. 

"  You  are  evidently  delighted,"  cried  Lucien.  "  You  never 
liked  poor  Esther,  and  you  look  forward  with  joy  to  the  mo- 
ment when  you  will  be  rid  of  her." 

"You  have  never  tired  of  loving  her,  have  you?  Well,  I 
have  never  tired  of  detesting  her.  But  have  I  not  always  be- 
haved as  though  I  were  sincerely  attached  to  the  hussy — I, 
who,  through  Asia,  hold  her  life  in  my  hands?  A  few  mis- 
taken mushrooms  in  a  stew — and  there's  an  end.  But  Made- 
moiselle Esther  still  lives  ! — and  is  happy  !  And  do  you  know 
why  ?  Because  you  love  her.  Do  not  be  a  fool.  For  four 
years  we  have  been  waiting  for  a  chance  to  turn  up,  for  us  or 
against  us ;  well,  it  will  take  something  more  than  mere  clever- 
ness to  wash  the  cabbage  luck  has  flung  at  us  now.  There  are 
good  and  bad  together  in  this  turn  of  the  wheel — as  there  are 
in  everything.  Do  you  know  what  I  was  thinking  of  just 
when  you  came  in  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Of  making  myself  here,  ar  I  did  at  Barcelona,  heir  to  an 
old  bigot,  by  Asia's  help." 

"A  crime?" 


86  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  I  saw  no  other  way  of  securing  your  fortune.  The  credi- 
tors are  making  a  stir.  If  once  the  bailiffs  were  at  your  heels, 
and  you  were  turned  out  of  the  Hotel  Grandlieu,  where  would 
you  be?  There  would  be  the  devil  to  pay  then." 

And  Carlos  Herrera,  by  a  pantomimic  gesture,  showed  the 
suicide  of  a  man  throwing  himself  into  the  water;  then  he 
fixed  on  Lucien  one  of  those  steady,  piercing  looks  by  which 
the  will  of  a  strong  man  is  injected,  so  to  speak,  into  a  weak 
one.  This  fascinating  glare,  which  relaxed  all  Lucien' s  fibres 
of  resistance,  revealed  the  existence  not  merely  of  secrets  of 
life  and  death  between  him  and  his  adviser,  but  also  of  feel- 
ings as  far  above  ordinary  feeling  as  the  man  himself  was 
above  his  vile  position. 

Carlos  Herrera,  a  man  at  once  ignoble  and  magnanimous, 
obscure  and  famous,  compelled  to  live  out  of  the  world  from 
which  the  law  had  banned  him,  exhausted  by  vice  and  by 
frenzied  and  terrible  struggles,  though  endowed  with  powers 
of  mind  that  ate  into  his  soul,  consumed  especially  by  a  fever 
of  vitality,  now  lived  again  in  the  elegant  person  of  Lucien 
de  Rubempre,  whose  soul  had  become  his  own.  He  was 
represented  in  social  life  by  the  poet,  to  whom  he  lent  his 
tenacity  and  iron  will.  To  him  Lucien  was  more  than  a  son, 
more  than  a  woman  beloved,  more  than  a  family,  more  than 
his  life ;  he  was  his  revenge ;  and  as  souls  cling  more  closely 
to  a  feeling  than  to  existence,  he  had  bound  the  young  man 
to  him  by  insoluble  ties. 

After  rescuing  Lucien's  life  at  the  moment  when  the  poet 
in  desperation  was  on  the  verge  of  suicide,  he  had  proposed 
to  him  one  of  those  infernal  bargains  which  are  heard  of  only 
in  romances,  but  of  which  the  hideous  possibility  has  often 
been  proved  in  courts  of  justice  by  celebrated  criminal  dramas. 
While  lavishing  on  Lucien  all  the  delights  of  Paris  life,  and 
proving  to  him  that  he  yet  had  a  great  future  before  him,  he 
had  made  him  his  chattel. 

But,  indeed,  no  sacrifice  was  too  great  for  this  strange  man 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  87 

when  it  was  to  gratify  his  second  self.  With  all  his  strength, 
he  was  so  weak  to  this  creature  of  his  making  that  he  had 
even  told  him  all  his  secrets.  Perhaps  this  abstract  complicity 
was  a  bond  the  more  between  them. 

Since  the  day  when  La  Torpille  had  been  snatched  away, 
Lucien  had  known  on  what  a  vile  foundation  his  good  fortune 
rested.  That  priest's  robe  covered  Jacques  Collin,  a  man 
famous  on  the  hulks,  who  ten  years  since  had  lived  under  the 
homely  name  of  Vautrin  in  the  Maison  Vauquer,  where  Ras- 
tignac  and  Bianchon  were  at  that  time  boarders.* 

Jacques  Collin,  known  as  Trompe-la-Mort,  had  escaped 
from  Rochefort  almost  as  soon  as  he  was  recaptured,  profiting 
by  the  example  of  the  famous  Comte  de  Sainte-Helene,  while 
modifying  all  that  was  ill  planned  in  Coignard's  daring 
scheme.  To  take  the  place  of  an  honest  man  and  carry  on 
the  convict's  career  is  a  proposition  of  which  the  two  terms 
are  too  contradictory  for  a  disastrous  outcome  not  to  be  in- 
evitable, especially  in  Paris ;  for,  by  establishing  himself  in  a 
family,  a  convict  multiplies  tenfold  the  perils  of  such  a  substi- 
tution. And  to  be  safe  from  all  investigation,  must  not  a  man 
assume  a  position  far  above  the  ordinary  interests  of  life.  A 
man  of  the  world  is  subject  to  risks  such  as  rarely  trouble 
those  who  have  no  contact  with  the  world  ;  hence  the  cassock 
is  the  safest  disguise  when  it  can  be  authenticated  by  an  ex- 
emplary life  in  solitude  and  inactivity. 

"So  a  priest  I  will  be,"  said  the  legally  dead  man,  who 
was  quite  determined  to  resuscitate  as  a  figure  in  the  world, 
and  to  satisfy  passions  as  strange  as  himself. 

The  civil  war  caused  by  the  Constitution  of  1812  in  Spain, 
whither  this  energetic  man  had  betaken  himself,  enabled  him 
to  murder  secretly  the  real  Carlos  Herrera  from  an  ambush. 
This  ecclesiastic,  the  bastard  son  of  a  grandee,  long  since 
deserted  by  his  father,  and  not  knowing  to  what  woman  he 
owed  his  birth,  was  intrusted  by  King  Ferdinand  VII.,  to 
*  See  "  Father  Goriot." 


88  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

whom  a  bishop  had  recommended  him,  with  a  political  mis- 
sion to  France.  The  bishop,  the  only  man  who  took  any 
interest  in  Carlos  Herrera,  died  while  this  foundling  son  of 
the  church  was  on  his  journey  from  Cadiz  to  Madrid,  and 
from  Madrid  to  France.  Delighted  to  have  met  with  this 
longed-for  opportunity,  and  under  the  most  desirable  condi- 
tions, Jacques  Collin  scored  his  back  to  efface  the  fatal  letters, 
and  altered  his  complexion  by  the  use  of  chemicals.  Thus 
metamorphosing  himself  face  to  face  with  the  corpse,  he  con- 
trived to  achieve  some  likeness  to  his  Sosia.  And  to  com- 
plete a  change  almost  as  marvelous  as  that  related  in  the 
Arabian  tale,  where  a  dervish  has  acquired  the  power,  old  as 
he  is,  of  entering  into  a  young  body,  by  a  magic  spell,  the 
convict,  who  spoke  Spanish,  learned  as  much  Latin  as  an 
Andalusian  priest  need  know. 

As  banker  to  three  hulks,  Collin  was  rich  in  the  cash  in- 
trusted to  his  known,  and  indeed  enforced,  honesty.  Among 
such  company  a  mistake  is  balanced  by  a  dagger.  To  this 
capital  he  now  added  the  money  given  by  the  bishop  to  Don 
Carlos  Herrera.  Then,  before  leaving  Spain,  he  was  able  to 
possess  himself  of  the  treasure  of  an  old  bigot  at  Barcelona, 
to  whom  he  gave  absolution,  promising  that  he  would  make 
restitution  of  the  money  constituting  her  fortune,  which  his 
penitent  had  stolen  by  means  of  murder. 

Jacques  Collin,  now  a  priest,  and  charged  with  a  secret 
mission  which  would  secure  him  the  most  brilliant  introduc- 
tions in  Paris,  determined  to  do  nothing  that  might  compro- 
mise the  character  he  had  assumed,  and  had  given  himself  up 
to  the  chances  of  his  new  life,  when  he  met  Lucien  on  the 
road  between  Angoulgme  and  Paris.  In  this  youth  the  sham 
priest  saw  a  wonderful  instrument  for  power ;  he  saved  him 
from  suicide,  saying — 

"Give  yourself  over  to  me  as  to  a  man  of  God,  as  men 
give  themselves  over  to  the  devil,  and  you  will  have  every 
chance  of  a  new  career.  You  will  live  as  in  a  dream,  and  the 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  89 

worst  awakening  that  can  come  to  you  will  be  death,  which 
you  now  wish  to  meet." 

The  alliance  between  these  two  beings,  who  were  to  become 
one,  as  it  were,  was  based  on  this  substantial  reasoning,  and 
Carlos  Herrera  cemented  it  by  an  ingeniously  plotted  com- 
plicity. He  had  the  very  genius  of  corruption,  and  under- 
mined Lucien's  honesty  by  plunging  him  into  cruel  necessity, 
and  extricating  him  by  obtaining  his  tacit  consent  to  bad  or 
disgraceful  actions,  which  nevertheless  left  him  pure,  loyal, 
and  noble  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  Lucien  was  the  social 
magnificence  under  whose  shadow  the  forger  meant  to  live. 

"  I  am  the  author,  you  are  the  play;  if  you  fail,  it  is  I  who 
shall  be  hissed,"  said  he  on  the  day  when  he  confessed  his 
sacrilegious  disguise. 

Carlos  prudently  confessed  only  a  little  at  a  time,  measuring 
the  horrors  of  his  jjevelations  by  Lucien's  progress  and  needs. 
Thus  Trompe-la-Mort  did  not  let  out  his  last  secret  till  the 
habit  of  Parisian  pleasures  and  success,  and  gratified  vanity, 
had  enslaved  the  weak-minded  poet  body  and  soul.  Where 
Rastignac,  when  tempted  by  this  demon,  had  stood  firm,  Lu- 
cien, better  managed,  and  more  ingeniously  compromised, 
succumbed,  conquered  especially  by  his  satisfaction  in  having 
attained  an  eminent  position.  Incarnate  evil,  whose  poetical 
embodiment  is  called  the  devil,  displayed  every  delightful 
seduction  before  this  youth,  who  was  half  a  woman,  and  at 
first  gave  much  and  asked  for  little.  The  great  argument 
used  by  Carlos  was  the  eternal  secret  promised  by  Tartuffe  to 
Elmire. 

The  repeated  proofs  of  absolute  devotion,  such  as  that  of 
Sai'd  to  Mahomet,  put  the  finishing  touch  to  the  horrible 
achievement  of  Lucien's  subjugation  by  a  Jacques  Collin. 

At  this  moment  not  only  had  Esther  and  Lucien  devoured 
all  the  funds  intrusted  to  the  honesty  of  the  banker  of  the 
hulks,  who,  for  their  sakes,  had  rendered  himself  liable  to  a 
dreadful  calling  to  account,  but  the  dandy,  the  forger? 


90  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

the  courtesan  were  also  in  debt.  Thus,  at  the  very  moment 
of  Lucien's  expected  success,  the  smallest  pebble  under  the 
foot  of  either  of  these  three  persons  might  involve  the  ruin  of 
the  fantastic  structure,  that  elusive  edifice  of  fortune  so  auda- 
ciously built  up. 

At  the  opera-ball  Rastignac  had  recognized  the  man  he  had 
known  as  Vautrin  at  Madame  Vauquer's;  but  he  knew  that  if 
he  did  not  hold  his  tongue,  he  was  a  dead  man.  So  Madame 
de  Nucingen's  lover  and  Lucien  had  exchanged  glances  in 
which  fear  lurked,  on  both  sides,  under  an  expression  of 
amity.  In  the  moment  of  danger,  Rastignac,  it  is  clear,  would 
have  been  delighted  to  provide  the  vehicle  that  should  convey 
Jacques  Collin  to  the  scaffold.  From  all  this  it  may  be  under- 
stood that  Carlos  heard  of  the  baron's  passion  with  a  glow  of 
sombre  satisfaction,  while  he  perceived  in  a  single  flash  all  the 
advantage  a  man  of  his  temper  might  derive  by  means  of  the 
hapless  Esther. 

"Go  on,"  said  he  to  Lucien.  "The  devil  is  mindful  of 
his  chaplain." 

"You  are  smoking  on  a  powder  barrel." 

"  Incedo per  tgncs,"  replied  Carlos  with  a  smile.  "  That  is 
my  trade." 

The  House  of  Grandlieu  divided  into  two  branches  about 
the  middle  of  the  last  century :  first,  the  ducal  line  destined 
to  lapse,  since  the  present  duke  has  only  daughters ;  and  then 
the  Vicomtes  de  Grandlieu,  who  will  now  inherit  the  title  and 
armorial  bearings  of  the  elder  branch.  The  ducal  house  bears 
gules,  three  broad  axes  or  in  fess,  with  the  famous  motto : 
Caveo  non  timeo,  which  epitomizes  the  history  of  the  family. 

The  coat  of  the  Vicomtes  de  Grandlieu  is  the  same  quar- 
tered with  that  of  Navarreins :  gules,  a  fess  crenelated  or, 
surmounted  by  a  knight's  helmet,  with-  the  motto:  Grands 
faits,  grand  lieu.  The  present  viscountess,  widowed  in  1813, 
has  a  son  and  a  daughter.  Though  she  returned  from  the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  91 

emigration  almost  ruined,  she  recovered  a  considerable  fortune 
by  the  zealous  aid  of  Derville  the  lawyer. 

The  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu,  on  coming  home  in 
1804,  were  the  object  of  the  Emperor's  advances;  indeed, 
Napoleon,  seeing  them  come  to  his  Court,  restored  to  them  all 
of  the  Grandlieu  estates  that  had  been  confiscated  to  the 
nation,  to  the  amount  of  about  forty  thousand  francs  a  year. 
Of  all  the  great  nobles  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  who 
allowed  themselves  to  be  won  over  by  Napoleon,  this  duke 
and  duchess — she  was  an  Ajuda  of  the  senior  branch,  and 
connected  with  the  Braganzas — were  the  only  family  who 
afterward  never  disowned  him  and  his  liberality.  When  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain  remembered  this  as  a  crime  against 
the  Grandlieus,  Louis  XVIII.  respected  them  for  it;  but  per- 
haps his  only  object  was  to  annoy  MONSIEUR. 

A  marriage  was  considered  likely  between  the  young  Vicomte 
de  Grandlieu  and  Marie-Athe'na'is,  the  duke's  youngest  daughter, 
now  nine  years  old.  Sabine,  the  youngest  but  one,  married 
the  Baron  du  Guenic  after  the  revolution  of  July,  1830;  Jose- 
phine, the  third,  became  Madame  d'Ajuda-Pinto  after  the 
death  of  the  marquis'  first  wife,  Mademoiselle  de  Rochefide, 
or  Rochegude.  The  eldest  had  taken  the  veil  in  1822.  The 
second,  Mademoiselle  Clotilde  Frederique,  at  this  time  seven- 
and-twenty  years  of  age,  was  deeply  in  love  with  Lucien  de 
Rubempre'.  It  need  not  be  asked  whether  the  Due  de  Grand- 
lieu's  mansion,  one  of  the  finest  in  the  Rue  Saint-Dominique, 
did  not  exert  a  thousand  spells  over  Lucien's  imagination. 
Every  time  the  heavy  gate  turned  on  its  hinges  to  admit  his 
cab,  he  experienced  the  gratified  vanity  to  which  Mirabeau 
confessed. 

"  Though  my  father  was  a  mere  druggist  at  1'Houmeau,  I 
may  enter  here  !  "  This  was  his  thought. 

And,  indeed,  he  would  have  committed  far  worse  crimes 
than  allying  himself  with  a  forger  to  preserve  his  right  to 
mount  the  steps  of  that  entrance,  to  hear  himself  announced : 

\ 


92  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  "  at  the  door  of  the  fine  Louis  XIV. 
drawing-room,  decorated  in  the  time  of  the  grand  monarquc 
on  the  pattern  of  those  at  Versailles,  where  that  choicest  circle 
met,  that  cream  of  Paris  society,  called  then  le  petit  chateau. 

The  noble  Portuguese  lady,  one  of  those  who  never  care 
to  go  out  of  their  own  home,  was  usually  the  centre  of  her 
neighbors'  attentions — the  Chaulieus,  the  Navarreins,  the 
Lenoncourts.  The  pretty  Baronne  de  Macumer — nee  de 
Chaulieu — the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  Madame  d'Espard, 
Madame  de  Camps,  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches — a  con- 
nection of  the  Grandlieus,  who  are  a  Breton  family — were 
frequent  visitors  on  their  way  to  a  ball  or  on  their  return  from 
the  opera.  The  Vicomte  de  Grandlieu,  the  Due  de  Rhetore, 
the  Marquis  de  Chaulieu — afterward  Due  de  Lenoncourt- 
Chaulieu — his  wife,  Madeleine  de  Mortsauf,  the  Due  de 
Lenoncourt's  granddaughter,  the  Marquis  d'Ajuda- Pinto,  the 
Prince  de  Blamont-Chauvry,  the  Marquis  de  Beauseant,  the 
Vidame  de  Pamiers,  the  Vandenesses,  the  old  Prince  de 
Cadignan,  and  his  son  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse,  were  con- 
stantly to  be  seen  in  this  stately  drawing-room,  where  they 
breathed  the  atmosphere  of  a  Court,  where  manners,  tone, 
and  wit  were  in  harmony  with  the  dignity  of  the  master  and 
mistress  whose  aristocratic  mien  and  magnificence  had  obliter- 
ated the  memory  of  their  servility  to  Napoleon. 

The  old  Duchesse  d'Uxelles,  mother  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse,  was  the  oracle  of  this  circle,  to  which  Madame 
de  Serizy  had  never  gained  admittance,  though  nee  de  Ron- 
querolles. 

Lucien  was  brought  thither  by  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse, 
who  had  won  over  her  mother  to  speak  in  his  favor,  for  she 
had  doted  on  him  for  two  years;  and  the  engaging  young 
poet  had  kept  his  footing  there,  thanks  to  the  influence  of  the 
high  almoner  of  France  and  the  support  of-  the  archbishop  of 
Paris.  Still,  he  had  not  been  admitted  till  he  had  obtained 
the  patent  restoring  to  him  the  name  and  arms  of  the  Rubem- 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  93 

pre  family.  The  Due  de  Rhetore,  the  Chevalier  d'Espard, 
and  some  others,  jealous  of  Lucien,  periodically  stirred  up 
the  Due  de  Grandlieu's  prejudices  against  him  by  retailing 
anecdotes  of  the  young  man's  previous  career;  but  the 
duchess,  a  devout  Catholic  surrounded  by  the  great  prelates 
of  the  church,  and  her  daughter  Clotilde  would  not  give 
him  up. 

Lucien  accounted  for  these  hostilities  by  his  connection 
with  Madame  de  Bargeton,  Madame  d'Espard's  cousin,  and 
now  Comtesse  du  Chitelet.  Then,  feeling  the  importance  of 
allying  himself  with  so  powerful  a  family,  and  urged  by  his 
privy  adviser  to  win  Clotilde,  Lucien  found  the  courage  of 
the  parvenu ;  he  came  to  the  house  five  days  in  the  week,  he 
swallowed  all  the  affronts  of  the  envious,  he  endured  imperti- 
nent looks,  and  answered  irony  with  wit.  His  persistency, 
the  charm  of  his  manners,  and  his  amiability,  at  last  neutral- 
ized opposition  and  reduced  obstacles.  He  was  still  in  the 
highest  favor  with  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse,  whose  ardent 
letters,  written  under  the  influence  of  her  passion,  were  pre- 
served by  Carlos  Herrera;  he  was  idolized  by  Madame  de 
Serizy,  and  stood  well  in  Mademoiselle  d?s  Touches'  good 
graces ;  and  well  content  with  being  received  in  these  houses, 
Lucien  was  instructed  by  the  abbe  to  be  as  reserved  as  possible 
in  all  other  quarters. 

"You  cannot  devote  yourself  to  several  houses  at  once," 
said  his  Mentor.  "The  man  who  goes  everywhere  finds  no 
one  to  take  a  lively  interest  in  him.  Great  folk  only  patronize 
those  who  emulate  their  furniture,  whom  they  see  every  day, 
and  who  have  the  art  of  becoming  as  necessary  to  them  as 
the  seat  they  sit  upon." 

Thus  Lucien,  accustomed  to  regard  the  Grandlieus'  drawing- 
room  as  his  arena,  reserved  his  wit,  his  jests,  his  news,  and 
his  courtier's  graces  for  the  hours  he  spent  there  every  even- 
ing. Insinuating,  tactful,  and  warned  by  Clotilde  of  the 
shoals  he  should  avoid,  he  flattered  Monsieur  de  Grandlieu's 

\ 


94  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

little  weaknesses.  Clotilde,  having  begun  by  envying  Madame 
de  Maufrigneuse  her  happiness,  ended  by  falling  desperately  in 
love  with  Lucien. 

Perceiving  all  the  advantages  of  such  a  connection,  Lucien 
played  his  lover's  part  as  well  as  it  could  have  been  acted  by 
Armand,  the  latest  leading  juvenile  at  the  "  Comedie  Fran- 
caise."  He  wrote  to  Clotilde,  letters  which  were  certainly 
masterpieces  of  literary  workmanship ;  and  Clotilde  replied, 
vicing  with  him  in  genius  in  the  expression  of  perfervid  love 
on  paper,  for  she  had  no  other  outlet.  Lucien  went  to  church 
at  Saint-Thomas-d'Aquin  every  Sunday,  giving  himself  out  as 
a  devout  Catholic,  and  he  poured  forth  monarchical  and  pious 
harangues  which  were  a  marvel  to  all.  He  also  wrote  some 
exceedingly  remarkable  articles  in  papers  devoted  to  the 
"Congregation,"  refusing  to  be  paid  for  them,  and  signing 
them  only  with  an  "L."  He  produced  political  pamphlets 
when  required  by  King  Charles  X.  or  the  high  almoner,  and 
for  these  he  would  take  no  payment. 

"The  King,"  he  would  say,  "has  done  so  much  for  me 
that  I  owe  him  my  blood." 

For  some  days  past  there  had  been  an  idea  of  attaching 
Lucien  to  the  prime  minister's  cabinet  as  his  private  secretary ; 
but  Madame  d'Espard  brought  so  many  persons  into  the  field 
in  opposition  to  Lucien,  that  Charles  X.'s  Mattre  Jacques 
hesitated  to  clinch  the  matter.  Nor  was  Lucien's  position  by 
any  means  clear;  not  only  did  the  question  :  "What  does  he 
live  on  ?"  on  everybody's  lips  as  the  young  man  rose  in  life, 
require  an  answer,  but  even  benevolent  curiosity — as  much 
as  malevolent  curiosity — went  on  from  one  inquiry  to  another, 
and  found  more  than  one  joint  in  the  ambitious  youth's 
harness. 

Clotilde  de  Grandlieu  unconsciously  served  as  a  spy  for 
her  father  and  mother.  A  few  days  since'she  had  led  Lucien 
into  a  recess  and  told  him  of  the  difficulties  raised  by  her 
family. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  95 

"  Invest  a  million  francs  in  land,  and  my  hand  is  yours : 
that  is  my  mother's  ultimatum,"  Clotilde  had  explained. 

"And  presently  they  will  ask  you  where  you  got  the 
money,"  said  Carlos,  when  Lucien  reported  this  last  word  in 
the  bargain. 

"My  brother-in-law  will  have  made  his  fortune,"  remarked 
Lucien ;  "  we  can  make  him  the  responsible  backer." 

"  Then  only  the  million  is  needed,"  said  Carlos.  "  I  will 
think  it  over." 

To  be  exact  as  to  Lucien's  position  in  the  Hotel  Grandlieu, 
he  had  never  dined  there.  Neither  Clotilde,  nor  the  Duchesse 
d'Uxelles,  nor  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse,  who  was  always 
extremely  kind  to  Lucien,  could  ever  obtain  this  favor  from 
the  duke,  so  persistently  suspicious  was  the  old  nobleman  of 
the  man  he  designated  as  "le  Sieur  de  Rubempre."  This 
shade  of  distinction,  understood  by  every  one  who  visited  at 
the  house,  constantly  wounded  Lucien's  self-respect,  for  he 
felt  that  he  was  no  more  than  tolerated.  But  the  world  is 
justified  in  being  suspicious ;  it  is  so  often  taken  in  ! 

To  cut  a  figure  in  Paris  with  no  known  source  of  wealth 
and  no  recognized  employment  is  a  position  which  can  by  no 
artifice  be  long  maintained.  So  Lucien,  as  he  crept  up  in  the 
world,  gave  more  and  more  weight  to  the  question  :  "  What 
does  he  live  on?"  He  had  been  obliged  indeed  to  confess 
to  Madame  de  Serizy,  to  whom  he  owed  the  patronage  of 
Monsieur  Granville,  the  public  prosecutor,  and  of  the  Comte 
Octave  de  Bauvan,  a  minister  of  state,  and  president  of  one 
of  the  supreme  courts:  " I  am  dreadfully  in  debt." 

As  he  entered  the  courtyard  of  the  mansion  where  he  found 
an  excuse  for  all  his  vanities,  he  was  saying  to  himself  as  he 
reflected  on  Trompe-la-Mort's  scheming — 

"  I  can  hear  the  ground  cracking  under  my  feet !  " 

He  loved  Esther,  and  he  wanted  to  marry  Mademoiselle  de 
Grandlieu  !  A'  strange  dilemma !  One  must  be  sold  to  buy 
the  other. 


96  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

Only  one  person  could  effect  this  bargain  without  damage 
to  Lucien's  honor,  and  that  was  the  supposed  Spaniard. 
Were  they  not  bound  to  be  equally  secret,  each  for  the  other  ? 
Such  a  compact,  in  which  each  is  in  turn  master  and  slave,  is 
not  to  be  found  twice  in  any  one  life. 

Lucien  drove  away  the  clouds  that  darkened  his  brow,  and 
walked  into  the  Grandlieu  drawing-room  gay  and  beaming. 
At  this  moment  the  windows  were  open,  the  fragrance  from 
the  garden  scented  the  room,  the  flower-basket  in  the  centre 
displayed  its  pyramid  of  flowers.  The  duchess,  seated  on  a 
sofa  in  the  corner,  was  talking  to  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu. 
Several  women  together  formed  a  group  remarkable  for  their 
various  attitudes,  stamped  with  the  different  expressions  which 
each  strove  to  give  to  an  affected  sorrow.  In  the  fashionable 
world  nobody  takes  any  interest  in  grief  or  suffering ;  every- 
thing is  talk.  The  men  were  walking  up  and  down  the  room 
or  in  the  garden.  Clotilde  and  Josephine  were  busy  at  the 
tea-table.  The  Vidame  de  Pamiers,  the  Due  de  Grandlieu, 
the  Marquis  d' Ajuda-Pinto,  and  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse  were 
playing  wish  (whist),  as  they  called  it,  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 

When  Lucien  was  announced  he  walked  across  the  salon  to 
make  his  bow  to  the  duchess,  asking  the  cause  of  the  grief  he 
could  read  in  her  face. 

"  Madame  de  Chaulieu  has  just  had  dreadful  news ;  her 
son-in-law,  the  Baron  de  Macumer,  ex-duke  of  Soria,  is  just 
dead.  The  young  Due  de  Soria  and  his  wife,  who  had  gone 
to  Chantepleurs  to  nurse  their  brother,  have  written  this  sad 
intelligence.  Louise  is  heart-broken." 

"A  woman  is  not  loved  twice  in  her  life  as  Louise  was 
loved  by  her  husband,"  said  Madeleine  de  Mortsauf. 

"She  will  be  a  rich  widow,"  observed  the  old  Duchesse 
d'Uxelles,  looking  at  Lucien,  whose  face  showed  no  change 
of  expression. 

"Poor  Louise  !  "  said  Madame  d'Espard.  "I  understand 
her  and  pity  her." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  97 

The  Marquise  d'Espard  put  on  the  pensive  look  of  a  woman 
full  of  soul  and  feeling.  Sabine  de  Grandlieu,  who  was  but 
ten  years  old,  raised  knowing  eyes  to  her  mother's  face,  but 
the  satirical  glance  was  repressed  by  a  glance  from  the  duchess. 
This  is  what  is  called  "  bringing  children  up  properly." 

"If  my  daughter  lives  through  the  shock,"  said  Madame 
de  Chaulieu,  with  a  very  maternal  manner,  "I  shall  be  anxious 
about  her  future  life.  Louise  is  so  very  romantic." 

"It  is  so  difficult  nowadays,"  said  a  venerable  cardinal, 
"to  reconcile  feeling  with  the  proprieties." 

Lucien,  who  had  not  a  word  to  say  on  this  topic,  went  to 
the  tea-table  to  do  what  was  polite  to  the  Demoiselles  de 
Grandlieu.  When  the  poet  had  gone  a  few  yards  away,  the 
Marquise  d'Espard  leaned  over  to  whisper  in  the  duchess' 
ear — 

"And  do  you  really  think  that  that  young  fellow  is  so  much 
in  love  with  your  dear  Clotilde?  " 

The  perfidy  of  this  question  cannot  be  fully  understood  but 
with  the  help  of  a  sketch  of  Clotilde.  That  young  lady  was, 
at  this  moment,  standing  up.  Her  attitude  allowed  the  Mar- 
quise d'Espard's  mocking  eye  to  take  in  Clotilde's  lean, 
narrow  figure,  exactly  like  an  asparagus  stalk ;  the  poor  girl's 
bust  was  so  flat  that  it  did  not  allow  of  the  artifice  known  to 
dressmakers  as  fichus  menteurs,  or  padded  habitshirts.  And 
Clotilde,  who  knew  that  her  name  was  a  sufficient  advantage 
in  life,  far  from  trying  to  conceal  this  defect,  heroically  made 
a  display  of  it.  By  wearing  plain,  tight  dresses  she  achieved 
the  effect  of  that  stiff  prim  shape  which  mediaeval  sculptors 
succeeded  in  giving  to  the  statuettes  whose  profiles  are  con- 
spicuous against  the  background  of  the  niches  in  which  they 
stand  in  cathedrals. 

Clotilde  was  more  than  five  feet  four  in  height ;  if  we  may 
be  allowed  to  use  a  familiar  phrase,  which  has  the  merit  at  any 
rate  of  being  perfectly  intelligible — she  was  all  legs.     These 
defective  proportions  gave  her  figure  an  almost  deformed  ap-  / 
7 


98  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

pearance.  With  a  dark  complexion,  harsh  black  hair,  very 
thick  eyebrows,  fiery  eyes,  set  in  sockets  that  were  already 
deeply  discolored,  a  side-face  shaped  like  the  moon  in  its  first 
quarter,  and  a  prominent  brow,  she  was  the  caricature  of  her 
mother,  one  of  the  handsomest  women  in  Portugal.  Nature 
amuses  herself  with  such  tricks.  Often  we  see  in  one  family  a 
sister  of  wonderful  beauty,  whose  features  in  her  brother  are 
absolutely  hideous,  though  the  two  are  amazingly  alike.  Clo- 
tilde's  lips,  excessively  thin  and  sunken,  wore  a  permanent 
expression  of  disdain.  And  yet  her  mouth,  better  than  any 
other  feature  of  her  face,  revealed  every  secret  impulse  of  her 
heart,  for  affection  lent  it  a  sweet  expression,  which  was  all 
the  more  remarkable  because  her  cheeks  were  too  sallow  for 
blushes,  and  her  hard,  black  eyes  never  told  anything.  Not- 
withstanding these  defects,  notwithstanding  her  board-like 
carriage,  she  had  by  birth  and  education  a  grand  air,  a  proud 
demeanor,  in  short,  everything  that  has  been  well  named  le  je 
ne  sais  quoi,  due  partly,  perhaps,  to  her  uncompromising  sim- 
plicity of  dress,  which  stamped  her  as  a  woman  of  noble  blood. 
She  dressed  her  hair  to  advantage,  and  it  might  be  accounted 
to  her  for  a  beauty,  for  it  grew  vigorously,  thick  and  long. 

She  had  cultivated  her  voice,  and  it  could  cast  a  spell ;  she 
sang  exquisitely.  Clotilde  was  just  the  woman  of  whom  one 
says  :  "  She  has  fine  eyes,"  or,  "  She  has  a  delightful  temper." 
If  any  one  addressed  her  in  the  English  fashion  as  "Your 
grace,"  she  would  say,  "You  mean  'Your  leanness.' ' 

"  Why  should  not  my  poor  Clotilde  have  a  lover?"  replied 
the  duchess  to  the  marquise.  "  Do  you  know  what  she  said 
to  me  yesterday  ?  '  If  I  am  loved  for  ambition's  sake,  I 
undertake  to  make  him  love  me  for  my  own  sake.'  She  is 
clever  and  ambitious,  and  there  are  men  who  like  those  two 
qualities.  As  for  him — my  dear,  he  is  as  handsome  as  a  vision ; 
and  if  he  can  but  repurchase  the  Rubempre"  estates,  out  of 
regard  for  us  the  King  will  reinstate  him  in  the  title  of  mar- 
quis. After  all,  his  mother  was  the  last  of  the  Rubempres." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  99 

"Poor  fellow!  where  is  he  to  find  a  million  francs?"  said 
the  marquise. 

"That  is  no  concern  of  ours,"  replied  the  duchess.  "  He 
is  certainly  incapable  of  stealing  the  money.  Beside,  we 
would  never  give  Clotilde  to  an  intriguing  or  dishonest  man 
even  if  he  were  handsome,  young,  and  a  poet,  like  Monsieur 
de  Rubempre." 

"You  are  late  this  evening,"  said  Clotilde,  smiling  at 
Lucien  with  infinite  graciousness. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  dining  out." 

"You  have  been  quite  gay  these  last  few  days,"  said  she, 
concealing  her  jealousy  and  anxiety  behind  a  smile. 

"  Quite  gay  ?  "  replied  Lucien.  "  No — only  by  the  merest 
chance  I  have  been  dining  every  day  this  week  with  bankers  ; 
to-day  with  the  Nucingens,  yesterday  with  du  Tillet,  the  day 
before  with  the  Kellers " 

Whence,  it  may  be  seen,  that  Lucien  had  succeeded  in 
assuming  the  tone  of  light  impertinence  of  great  people. 

"You  have  many  enemies,"  said  Clotilde,  offering  him — 
how  graciously ! — a  cup  of  tea.  "  Some  one  told  my  father 
that  you  have  debts  to  the  amount  of  sixty  thousand  francs, 
and  that  before  long  Sainte-Pelagie  will  be  your  summer 
quarters.  If  you  could  know  what  all  these  calumnies  are  to 
me !  It  all  recoils  on  me.  I  say  nothing  of  my  own  suffer- 
ing— my  father  has  a  way  of  looking  that  crucifies  me — but 
of  what  you  must  be  suffering  if  any  least  part  of  it  should 
be  the  truth." 

"Do  not  let  such  nonsense  w.orry  you;  love  me  as  I  love 
you,  and  give  me  time — a  few  months "  said  Lucien,  re- 
placing his  empty  cup  on  the  silver  tray. 

"Do  not  let  my  father  see  you;  he  would  say  something 
disagreeable ;  and  as  you  could  not  submit  to  that,  we  should 
be  done  for.  That  odious  Marquise  d'Espard  told  him  that 
your  mother  had  been  a  monthly  nurse  and  that  your  sister 
did  ironing " 


100  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  We  were  in  the  most  abject  poverty,"  replied  Lucien,  the 
tears  rising  to  his  eyes.  "  That  is  not  calumny,  but  it  is  most 
ill-natured  gossip.  My  sister  now  is  a  more  than  millionaire, 
and  my  mother  has  been  dead  two  years.  This  information 
has  been  kept  in  stock  to  use  just  when  I  should  be  on  the 
verge  of  success  here " 

"  But  what  have  you  done  to  Madame  d'Espard  ?  " 

"  I  was  so  rash,  at  Madame  de  Serizy's,  as  to  tell  the  story, 
with  some  added  pleasantries,  in  the  presence  of  Messieurs  de 
Bauvan  and  de  Granville,  of  her  attempt  to  get  a  commission 
of  lunacy  appointed  to  sit  on  her  husband,  the  Marquis  d'Es- 
pard. Bianchon  had  told  it  to  me.  Monsieur  de  Granville's 
opinion,  supported  by  those  of  Bauvan  and  Serizy,  influenced 
the  decision  of  the  keeper  of  the  seals.  They  were  all  afraid 
of  the  'Gazette  des  Tribunaux,'  and  dreaded  the  scandal, 
and  the  marquise  got  her  knuckles  rapped  in  the  summing 
up  for  the  judgment  finally  recorded  in  that  miserable  busi- 
ness. 

"Though  Monsieur  de  Serizy  by  his  tattle  has  made  the 
marquise  my  mortal  foe,  I  gained  his  good  offices,  and  those 
of  the  public  prosecutor,  and  Comte  Octave  de  Bauvan ;  for 
Madame  de  Serizy  told  them  the  danger  in  which  I  stood  in 
consequence  of  their  allowing  the  source  of  their  information 
to  be  guessed  at.  The  Marquis  d'Espard  was  so  clumsy  as  to 
call  upon  me,  regarding  me  as  the  first  cause  of  his  winning 
the  day  in  that  atrocious  suit." 

"I  will  rescue  you  from  Madame  d'Espard,"  said  Clo- 
tilde. 

"  How  ?  "  cried  Lucien. 

"  My  mother  shall  ask  the  young  d'Espards  here  ;  they  are 
charming  boys,  and  growing  up  now.  The  father  and  sons 
will  sing  your  praises,  and  then  we  are  sure  never  to  see  their 
mother  again." 

"  Oh,  Clotilde,  you  are  an  angel !  If  I  did  not  love  you 
for  yourself,  I  should  love  you  for  being  so  clever." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  101 

"It  is  not  cleverness,"  said  she,  all  her  love  beaming  on 
her  lips.  "  Good-night.  Do  not  come  again  for  some  few 
days.  When  you  see  me  in  church,  at  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin, 
with  a  pink  scarf,  my  father  will  be  in  a  better  temper.  You 
will  find  an  answer  stuck  to  the  back  of  the  chair  you  are 
sitting  in ;  it  will  comfort  you  perhaps  for  not  seeing  me. 
Put  the  note  you  have  brought  under  my  handkerchief ' ' 

This  young  person  was  evidently  more  than  seven-and- 
twenty. 

Lucien  took  a  cab  in  the  Rue  de  la  Planche,  got  out  of  it 
on  the  boulevards,  took  another  by  the  Madeleine,  and  desired 
the  driver  to  have  the  gates  opened  and  drive  in  at  the  house. 
in  the  Rue  Taitbout. 

On  going  in  at  eleven  o'clock,  he  found  Esther  in  tears, 
but  dressed  as  she  was  wont  to  dress  to  do  him  honor.  She 
awaited  her  Lucien  reclining  on  a  sofa  covered  with  white 
satin  brocaded  with  yellow  flowers,  dressed  in  a  bewitching 
wrapper  of  India  muslin  with  cherry-colored  bows ;  without 
her  corset,  her  hair  simply  twisted  into  a  knot,  her  feet  in 
little  velvet  slippers  lined  with  cherry-colored  satin ;  all  the 
candles  were  burning,  the  hookah  was  prepared.  But  she  had 
not  smoked  her  own,  which  stood  beside  her  unlighted,  em- 
blematical of  her  loneliness.  On  hearing  the  doors  open, 
she  sprang  up  like  a  gazelle  and  threw  her  arms  round  Lucien, 
wrapping  him  like  a  web  caught  by  the  wind  and  flung  about 
a  tree. 

"Parted.     Is  it  true?" 

"  Oh,  just  for  a  few  days,"  replied  Lucien. 

Esther  released  him,  and  fell  back  on  her  divan  like  a  dead 
thing. 

In  these  circumstances,  most  women  babble  like  parrots. 
Oh  !  how  they  love  !  At  the  end  of  five  years  they  feel  as  if 
their  first  happiness  were  a  thing  of  yesterday,  they  cannot 
give  you  up,  they  are  magnificent  in  their  indignation,  despair, 
love,  grief,  dread,  dejection,  presentiments.  In  short,  they 


102  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

are  as  sublime  as  a  scene  from  Shakespeare.  But  make  no 
mistake  !  These  women  do  not  love.  When  they  are  really 
all  that  these  profess,  when  they  love  truly,  they  do  as  Esther 
did,  as  children  do,  as  true  love  does ;  Esther  did  not  say  a 
word,  she  lay  with  her  face  buried  in  the  pillows,  shedding 
bitter  tears. 

Lucien,  on  his  part,  tried  to  lift  her  up,  and  soothe  her. 

"But,  my  child,  we  are  not  to  part.  What,  after  four  years 
of  happiness,  is  this  the  way  you  take  a  short  absence.  What 
on  earth  do  I  do  to  all  these  girls?"  he  added  to  himself, 
remembering  that  Coralie  had  loved  him  thus. 

"Ah,  monsieur,  you  are  so  handsome,- said  Europe." 

The  senses  have  their  own  ideal.  When  added  to  this 
fascinating  beauty  we  find  the  sweetness  of  nature,  the  poetry, 
that  characterized  Lucien,  it  is  easy  to  conceive  of  the  mad 
passion  roused  in  such  women,  keenly  alive  as  they  are  to 
external  gifts,  and  artless  in  their  admiration.  Esther  was 
sobbing  quietly,  and  lay  in  an  attitude  expressive  of  the 
deepest  distress. 

"But,  little  goose,"  said  Lucien,  "did  you  not  understand 
that  my  life  is  at  stake? " 

At  these  words,  which  he  chose  on  purpose,  Esther  started 
up  like  a  wild  animal,  her  hair  fell,  tumbling  about  her  excited 
face  like  wreaths  of  foliage.  She  looked  steadily  at  Lucien. 

"  Your  life?  "  she  cried,  throwing  up  her  arms,  and  letting 
them  drop  with  a  gesture  known  only  to  a  courtesan  in  peril. 
"To  be  sure;  that  friend's  note  speaks  of  serious  risk." 

She  took  a  shabby  scrap  of  paper  out  of  her  sash ;  then 
seeing  Europe,  she  said:  "Leave  us,  my  girl." 

When  Europe  had  shut  the  door,  she  went  on — "  Here, 
this  is  what  he  writes,"  and  she  handed  to  Lucien  a  note 
she  had  just  received  from  Carlos,  which  Lucien  read  aloud — 

"You  must  leave  to-morrow  at  five  in  the  morning;  you 
will  be  taken  to  a  keeper's  lodge  in  the  heart  of  the  forest  of 


LUC1EN    BURNT    THE    NOTE    AT    ONCE    IN    THE  FLAME. 
OF    A    CANDLE. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  103 

Saint-Germain,  where  you  will  have  a  room  on  the  second 
floor.  Do  not  quit  that  room  till  I  give  you  leave ;  you  will 
want  for  nothing.  The  keeper  and  his  wife  are  to  be  trusted. 
Do  not  write  to  Lucien.  Do  not  go  to  the  window  during 
daylight ;  but  you  may  walk  by  night  with  the  keeper  if  you 
wish  for  exercise.  Keep  the  carriage  blinds  down  on  the  way. 
Lucien 's  life  is  at  stake. 

"  Lucien  will  see  you  to-night  to  bid  you  farewell ;  burn 
this  in  his  presence." 

Lucien  burnt  the  note  at  once  in  the  flame  of  a  candle. 

"  Listen,  my  own  Lucien,"  said  Esther,  after  hearing  him 
read  this  letter  as  a  criminal  hears  the  sentence  of  death ;  "I 
will  not  tell  you  that  I  love  you  ;  it  would  be  idiotic.  For 
nearly  five  years  it  has  been  as  natural  to  me  to  love  you  as  to 
breathe  and  live.  From  the  first  day  when  my  happiness  be- 
gan under  the  protection  of  that  inscrutable  being,  who  placed 
me  here  as  you  place  some  little  curious  beast  in  a  cage,  I 
have  known  that  you  must  marry.  Marriage  is  a  necessary 
factor  in  your  career,  and  God  preserve  me  from  hindering 
the  development  of  your  fortunes. 

"  That  marriage  will  be  my  death.  But  I  will  not  worry 
you  ;  I  will  not  do  as  the  common  girls  do  who  kill  them- 
selves by  means  of  a  brasier  of  charcoal ;  I  had  enough  of 
that  once  ;  twice  raises  your  gorge,  as  Mariette  says.  No,  I 
will  go  a  long  way  off,  out  of  France.  Asia  knows  the  secrets 
of  her  country;  she  will  help  me  to  die  quietly.  A  prick — 
whiff,  it  is  all  over  ! 

"  I  ask  but  one  thing,  my  dearest,  and  that  is  that  you  will 
not  deceive  me.  I  have  had  my  share  of  living.  Since  the 
day  I  first  saw  you,  in  1824,  till  this  day,  I  have  known  more 
happiness  than  can  be  put  into  the  lives  of  ten  fortunate  wives. 
So  take  me  for  what  I  am — a  woman  as  strong  as  I  am  weak. 
Say  '  I  am  going  to  be  married.'  I  will  ask  no  more  of  you 
than  a  fond  farewell,  and  you  shall  never  hear  of  me  again." 


104  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  after  this  explanation,  as  sin- 
cere as  her  action  and  tone  were  guileless. 

"Is  it  that  you  are  going  to  be  married  ?"  she  repeated, 
looking  into  Lucien's  blue  eyes  with  one  of  her  fascinating 
glances,  as  brilliant  as  a  steel  blade. 

"  We  have  been  toiling  at  my  marriage  for  eighteen  months 
past,  and  it  is  not  yet  settled,"  replied  Lucien.  "  I  do  not 
know  when  it  can  be  settled  ;  but  it  is  not  in  question  now, 
dear  child  !  It  is  the  abb6,  I,  you.  We  are  in  real  peril. 
Nucingen  saw  you " 

"Yes,  in  the  wood  at  Vincennes,"  said  she.  "Did  he 
recognize  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Lucien.  "  But  he  has  fallen  so  desperately  in 
love  with  you  that  he  would  sacrifice  his  coffers.  After  din- 
ner, when  he  was  describing  how  he  had  met  you,  I  was  so 
foolish  as  to  smile  involuntarily  and  most  imprudently,  for  I 
live  in  the  world  like  a  savage  surrounded  by  the  traps  of  a 
hostile  tribe.  Carlos,  who  spares  me  the  pains  of  thinking, 
regards  the  position  as  dangerous,  and  he  has  undertaken  to 
pay  Nucingen  out  if  the  baron  takes  it  into  his  head  to  spy  on 
us  ;  and  he  is  quite  capable  of  it ;  he  spoke  to  me  of  the  in- 
capacity of  the  police.  You  have  lighted  a  flame  in  an  old 
chimney  choked  with  soot." 

"And  what  does  your  Spaniard  propose  to  do?"  asked 
Esther  very  softly. 

"  I  do  not  know  in  the  least,"  said  Lucien  ;  "  he  told  me 
I  might  sleep  soundly  and  leave  it  to  him  ; ' '  but  he  dared 
not  look  at  Esther. 

"  If  that  is  the  case,  I  will  obey  him  with  the  dog-like  sub- 
mission I  profess,"  said  Esther,  putting  her  hand  through 
Lucien's  arm  and  leading  him  into  her  bedroom,  saying : 
"  At  any  rate,  I  hope  you  dined  well,  my  Lulu,  at  that  de- 
testable baron's?" 

"  Asia's  cooking  prevents  my  ever  thinking  a  dinner  good, 
however  famous  the  chef  may  be,  where  I  happen  to  dine. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  105 

However,  Cardme  did  the  dinner  to-night,  as  he  does  every 
Sunday." 

Lucien  involuntarily  compared  Esther  with  Clotilde.  The 
mistress  was  so  beautiful,  so  unfailingly  charming,  that  she 
had  as  yet  kept  at  arm's  length  the  monster  who  devours  the 
most  perennial  loves — satiety. 

"What  a  pity,"  thought  he,  "to  find  one's  wife  in  two 
volumes.  In  one — poetry,  delight,  love,  devotion,  beauty, 
sweetness " 

Esther  was  fussing  about,  as  women  do,  before  going  to 
bed ;  she  came  and  went  and  fluttered  round,  singing  all  the 
time  j  you  might  have  thought  her  a  humming-bird. 

"  In  the  other — a  noble  name,  family,  honors,  rank,  knowl- 
edge of  the  world !  And  no  earthly  means  of  combining 
them  !  "  cried  Lucien  to  himself. 

Next  morning,  at  seven,  when  the  poet  awoke  in  the  pretty 
pink-and-white  room,  he  found  himself  alone.  He  rang,  and 
Europe  hurried  in. 

"What  are  monsieur's  orders?" 

"Esther?" 

"  Madame  went  off  this  morning  at  a  quarter  to  five.  By 
Monsieur  1' Abbe's  orderx  I  admitted  a  new  face — carriage 
paid." 

"  A  woman  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  an  Englishwoman — one  of  those  people  who  do 
their  day's  work  by  night,  and  we  are  ordered  to  treat  her  as 
if  she  were  madame.  What  can  you  have  to  say  to  such  truck  ? 
Poor  madame,  how  she  cried  when  she  got  into  the  carriage. 
'  Well,  it  has  to  be  done  ! '  cried  she.  '  I  left  that  poor  dear 
boy  asleep,'  said  she,  wiping  away  her  tears;  'Europe,  if  he 
had  looked  at  me  or  spoken  my  name,  I  should  have  stayed — 
I  could  but  have  died  with  him.'  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  am  so  fond 
of  madame,  that  I  did  not  show  her  the  person  who  has  taken 
her  place ;  some  waiting-maids  would  have  broken  her  heart 
by  doing  so." 


106  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS 

"  And  is  the  stranger  here  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  she  came  in  the  chaise  that  took  away  madame, 
and  I  hid  her  in  my  room  in  obedience  to  my  instructions " 

"  Is  she  nice-looking? " 

"So  far  as  such  a  second-hand  article  can  be.  But  she  will 
find  her  part  easy  enough  if  you  play  yours,  sir,"  said  Europe, 
going  to  fetch  the  false  Esther. 

The  night  before,  ere  going  to  bed,  the  all-powerful  banker 
had  given  his  orders  to  his  valet,  who,  at  seven  in  the  morning, 
brought  in  to  him  the  notorious  Louchard,*  the  most  famous 
of  the  commercial  police,  whom  he  left  in  a  little  sitting- 
room;  there  the  baron  joined  him,  in  a  dressing-gown  and 
slippers. 

"  You  haf  mate  a  fool  of  me!  "  he  said,  in  reply  to  this 
official's  greeting. 

"  I  could  not  help  myself,  Monsieur  le  Baron.  I  do  not 
want  to  lose  my  place,  and  I  had  the  honor  of  explaining  to 
you  that  I  could  not  meddle  in  a  matter  that  had  nothing  to 
do  with  my  functions.  What  did  I  promise  you?  To  put 
you  into  communication  with  one  of  our  agents,  who,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  would  be  best  able  to  serve  you.  But  you  know, 
Monsieur  le  Baron,  the  sharp  lines  that  divide  men  of  different 
trades :  if  you  build  a  house,  you  do  not  set  a  carpenter  to  do 
smith's  work.  Well,  there  are  two  branches  of  the  police — 
the  political  police  and  the  judicial  police.  The  political 
police  never  interfere  with  the  other  branch,  and  vice-versa. 
If  you  apply  to  the  chief  of  the  political  police,  he  must  get 
permission  from  the  minister  to  take  up  your  business,  and 
you  would  not  dare  to  explain  it  to  the  head  of  the  police 
throughout  the  kingdom.  A  police-agent  who  should  act  on 
his  own  account  would  lose  his  place. 

"  Well,  the  ordinary  police  are  quite  as  cautious  as  the 
political  police.  So  no  one,  whether  in  the  Home  Office  or 
*  A  friend  of  Fraisier's  in  "  Cousin  Pons." 


THE  HAR LOT'S  PROGRESS.  107 

at  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  ever  moves  excepting  in  the  in- 
terests of  the  State  or  for  the  ends  of  justice. 

"  If  there  is  a  plot  or  a  crime  to  be  followed  up,  then,  in- 
deed, the  heads  of  the  corps  are  at  your  service ;  but  you 
must  understand,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  that  they  have  other  fish 
to  fry  than  looking  after  the  fifty  thousand  love  affairs  in  Paris. 
As  to  me  and  my  men,  our  only  business  is  to  arrest  debtors ; 
and  as  soon  as  anything  else  is  to  be  done,  we  run  enormous 
risks  if  we  interfere  with  the  peace  and  quiet  of  any  man  or 
woman.  I  sent  you  one  of  my  men,  but  I  told  you  I  could 
not  answer  for  him ;  you  instructed  him  to  find  a  particular 
woman  in  Paris;  Contenson  bled  you  of  a  thousand-franc 
note,  and  did  not  even  move.  You  might  as  well  look  for  a 
needle  in  the  river  as  for  a  woman  in  Paris,  who  is  supposed 
to  haunt  Vincennes,  and  of  whom  the  description  answers  to 
every  pretty  woman  in  the  capital." 

"  And  could  not  Contenson  haf  tolt  me  de  truf,  instead  of 
making  me  pleed  out  one  tousand  franc?  " 

"  Listen  to  me,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  Louchard.  "  Will 
you  give  me  a  thousand  crowns  ?  I  will  give  you — sell  you — 
a  piece  of  advice." 

"Is  it  vort  one  tousand  crown — your  atvice?"  asked 
Nucingen. 

"I  am  not  to  be  caught,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  answered 
Louchard.  "  You  are  in  love,  you  want  to  discover  the  object 
of  your  passion  ;  you  are  getting  as  yellow  as  a  lettuce  without 
water.  Two  physicians  came  to  see  you  yesterday,  your  man 
tells  me,  who  think  your  life  is  in  danger :  now,  I  alone  can 
put  you  in  the  hands  of  a  clever  fellow.  But  the  deuce  is  in 
it  !  If  your  life  is  not  worth  a  thousand  crowns " 

"  Tell  me  de  name  of  dat  defer  fellow,  and  depent  on  my 
generosity " 

Louchard  took  up  his  hat,  bowed,  and  left  the  room. 

"Watein  teufel '  "  cried  Nucingen.  "Come  back — look 
here " 


108  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"Take  notice,"  said  Louchard,  before  taking  the  money, 
"  I  am  only  selling  a  piece  of  information,  pure  and  simple. 
I  can  give  you  the  name  and  address  of  the  only  man  who  is 
able  to  be  of  use  to  you — but  he  is  a  master " 

"Get  out  mit  you,"  cried  Nucingen.  "  Dere  is  not  no 
name  dat  is  vort  one  tousant  crown  but  dat  von  Varschild — 
and  dat  only  ven  it  is  sign  at  the  bottom  of  a  bank-bill.  I 
shall  gif  you  one  tousant  franc." 

Louchard,  a  little  weasel,  who  had  never  been  able  to  pur- 
chase an  office  as  lawyer,  notary,  clerk,  or  attorney,  leered  at 
the  baron  in  a  significant  fashion. 

"To  you — a  thousand  crowns,  or  let  it  alone.  You  will 
get  them  back  by  a  trade  done  in  a  few  seconds  on  the 
Bourse,"  said  he. 

"I  vill  gif  you  one  tousant  franc,"  repeated  the  baron. 

"You  would  cheapen  a  gold  mine!  "  said  Louchard,  bow- 
ing and  leaving. 

"  I  shall  get  dat  address  for  five  hundert  franc !  "  cried  the 
baron,  who  desired  his  servant  to  send  his  secretary  to  him. 

Turcaret  is  no  more.  In  these  days  the  smallest  banker, 
like  the  greatest,  exercises  his  acumen  in  the  most  petty  trans- 
actions; he  bargains  over  art,  beneficence,  and  love;  he 
would  bargain  with  the  pope  for  a  dispensation.  Thus, 
as  he  listened  to  Louchard,  Nucingen  had  hastily  con- 
cluded that  Contenson,  Louchard's  right-hand  man,  must 
certainly  know  the  address  of  that  master  spy.  Contenson 
would  tell  him  for  five  hundred  francs  what  Louchard  wanted 
to  see  a  thousand  crowns  for.  The  rapid  calculation  plainly 
proves  that  if  the  man's  heart  was  in  possession  of  love,  his 
head  was  still  that  of  the  lynx  stock-jobber. 

"Go  your  own  self,  mensieur,"  said  the  baron  to  his  secre- 
tary, "  to  Contenson,  dat  spy  of  Louchart's,  de  bailiff  man — 
but  go  in  one  capriolette,  fery  qvick,  and  pring  him  here 
qvick  to  me.  I  shall  vait.  Go  out  trough  de  garten.  Here 
is  dat  key,  for  no  man  shall  see  dat  man  in  here.  You  shall 


THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  109 

take  him  into  dat  little  garten-house.  Try  to  do  dat  little 
business  very  defer." 

Visitors  called  to  see  Nucingen  on  business ;  but  he  waited 
for  Contenson,  he  was  dreaming  of  Esther,  telling  himself  that 
before  long  he  would  again  see  the  woman  who  had  aroused  in 
him  such  unhoped-for  emotions,  and  he  sent  everybody  away 
with  vague  replies  and  double-edged  promises.  Contenson  was 
to  him  the  most  important  person  in  Paris,  and  he  looked  out 
into  the  garden  every  minute.  Finally,  after  giving  orders 
that  no  one  else  was  to  be  admitted,  he  had  his  breakfast 
served  in  the  summer-house  at  one  corner  of  the  garden.  In 
the  banker's  office  the  conduct  and  hesitancy  of  the  most 
knowing,  the  most  clear-sighted,  the  shrewdest  of  Paris  finan- 
ciers seemed  inexplicable. 

"What  ails  the  chief?"  said  a  stock-broker  to  one  of  the 
head-clerks. 

"  No  one  knows ;  they  are  anxious  about  his  health,  it 
would  seem.  Yesterday,  Madame  la  Baronne  got  Desplein 
and  Bianchon  to  meet  him." 

One  day,  when  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  engaged  in  physicking 
one  of  his  dogs,  named  "  Beauty"  (who,  as  is  well  known, 
destroyed  a  vast  mass  of  work,  and  whom  he  reproved  only 
in  these  words,  "  Ah  !  Beauty,  you  little  know  the  mischief 
you  have  done  !  "),  some  strangers  called  to  see  him;  but 
they  at  once  retired,  respecting  the  great  man's  occupation. 
In  every  more  or  less  lofty  life  there  is  a  little  dog  "  Beauty." 
When  the  Marechal  de  Richelieu  came  to  pay  his  respects  to 
Louis  XV.  after  taking  Mahon,  one  of  the  greatest  feats  of 
arms  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  King  said  to  him,  "  Have 
you  heard  the  great  news  ?  Poor  Lansmatt  is  dead. ' '  Lans- 
matt  was  a  gatekeeper  in  the  secret  of  the  King's  intrigues. 

The  bankers  of  Paris  never  knew  how  much  they  owed  to 
Contenson.  That  spy  was  the  cause  of  Nucingen's  allowing 
an  immense  loan  to  be  issued  in  which  his  share  was  allotted 
to  him,  and  which  he  gave  over  to  them.  The  stock-jobber 


110  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

could  aim  at  a  fortune  any  day  with  the  artillery  of  specula- 
tion, but  the  man  was  now  become  a  slave  to  the  hope  of 
happiness. 

The  great  banker  drank  some  tea,  and  was  nibbling  at  a 
slice  of  bread  and  butter,  as  a  man  does  whose  teeth  have 
for  long  not  been  sharpened  by  appetite,  when  he  heard  a 
carriage  stop  at  the  little  garden  gate.  In  a  few  minutes  his 
secretary  brought  in  Contenson,  whom  he  had  run  to  earth  in 
a  cafe  not  far  from  Sainte-Pelagie,  where  the  man  was  break- 
fasting on  the  strength  of  a  bribe  given  to  him  by  an  im- 
prisoned debtor  for  certain  allowances  that  must  be  paid  for. 

Contenson,  you  must  know,  was  a  whole  poem — a  Paris 
poem.  Merely  to  see  him  would  have  been  enough  to  tell 
you  that  Beaumarchais"  Figaro,  Moliere's  Mascarille,  Mari- 
vaux's  Frontin,  and  Dancourt's  Lafleur — those  great  repre- 
sentatives of  audacious  swindling,  of  cunning  driven  to  bay, 
of  stratagem  rising  again  from  the  ends  of  its  broken  wires — 
were  all  quite  second-rate  by  comparison  with  this  giant  of 
cleverness  and  meanness.  When  in  Paris  you  find  a  real 
type,  he  is  no  longer  a  man,  he  is  a  spectacle ;  no  longer  a 
factor  in  life,  but  a  whole  life,  many  lives. 

Bake  a  plaster  cast  four  times  in  a  furnace,  and  you  get  a 
sort  of  bastard  imitation  of  Florentine  bronze.  Well,  the 
thunderbolts  of  numberless  disasters,  the  pressure  of  terrible 
necessities,  had  bronzed  Contenson's  head,  as  though  sweating 
in  an  oven  had  three  times  over  stained  his  skin.  Closely- 
set  wrinkles  that  could  no  longer  be  relaxed  made  eternal  fur- 
rows, whiter  in  their  cracks.  The  yellow  face  was  all  wrinkles. 
The  bald  skull,  resembling  Voltaire's,  was  as  parched  as  a 
death's-head,  and  but  for  a  few  hairs  at  the  back  it  would 
have  seemed  doubtful  whether  it  was  that  of  a  living  man. 
Under  a  rigid  brow,  a  pair  of  Chinese  eyes,  like  those  of  an 
image  under  a  glass  shade  in  a  tea-store — artificial  eyes,  which 
sham  life  but  never  vary — moved  but  expressed  nothing.  The 
nose,  as  flat  as  that  of  a  skull,  sniffed  at  fate ;  and  the  mouth, 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  Ill 

as  thin-lipped  as  a  miser's,  was  always  open,  but  as  expression- 
less as  the  grin  of  a  letter-box. 

Contenson,  as  apathetic  as  a  savage,  with  sunburnt  hands, 
affected  that  Diogenes-like  indifference  which  can  never  bend 
to  any  formality  of  respect. 

And  what  a  commentary  on  his  life  was  written  on  his  dress 
for  any  one  who  can  decipher  a  dress !  Above  all,  what 
trousers!  made,  by  long  wear,  as  black  and  shiny  as  the 
camlet  of  which  lawyers'  gowns  are  made  !  A  vest,  bought 
in  an  old-clothes  store  in  the  Temple,  with  a  deep  embroidered 
collar !  A  rusty  black  coat  ! — and  everything  well  brushed, 
clean  after  a  fashion,  and  graced  by  a  watch  and  an  imitation 
gold  chain.  Contenson  allowed  a  triangle  of  shirt  to  show, 
with  pleats  in  which  glittered  a  sham  diamond  pin ;  his  black 
velvet  stock  set  stiff  like  a  gorget,  over  which  lay  rolls  of  flesh 
as  red  as  that  of  a  Caribbee.  His  silk  hat  was  as  glossy  as 
satin,  but  the  lining  would  have  yielded  grease  enough  for  two 
street  lamps  if  some  grocer  had  bought  it  to  boil  down. 

But  to  enumerate  these  accessories  is  nothing;  if  only  I 
could  give  an  idea  of  the  air  of  immense  importance  that  Con- 
tenson contrived  to  impart  to  them  !  There  was  something 
indescribably  knowing  in  the  collar  of  his  coat,  and  the  fresh 
blacking  on  a  pair  of  boots  with  gaping  soles,  to  which  no 
language  can  do  justice.  However,  to  give  some  notion  of 
this  medley  of  effect,  it  may  be  added  that  any  man  of  intelli- 
gence would  have  felt,  only  on  seeing  Contenson,  that  if 
instead  of  being  a  spy  he  had  been  a  thief,  all  these  odds  and 
ends,  instead  of  raising  a  smile,  would  have  made  one  shudder 
with  horror.  Judging  only  from  his  dress,  the  observer  would 
have  said  to  himself:  "That  is  a  scoundrel;  he  gambles,  he 
drinks,  he  is  full  of  vices ;  but  he  does  not  get  drunk,  he  does 
not  cheat,  he  is  neither  a  thief  nor  a  murderer."  And 
Contenson  remained  inscrutable  till  the  word  spy  suggested 
itself. 

This  man  had  followed  as  many  unrecognized  trades  as 


112  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

there  are  recognized  ones.  The  sly  smile  on  his  lips,  the 
twinkle  of  his  green  eyes,  the  queer  twitch  of  his  snub  nose, 
showed  that  he  was  not  deficient  in  humor.  He  had  a  face 
of  sheet-tin,  and  his  soul  most  probably  would  be  like  his 
face.  Every  movement  of  his  countenance  was  a  grimace 
wrung  from  him  by  politeness  rather  than  any  expression  of 
an  inmost  impulse.  He  would  have  been  alarming  if  he  had 
not  seemed  so  droll. 

Contenson,  one  of  the  most  curious  products  of  the  scum 
that  rises  to  the  top  of  the  seething  Paris  cauldron,  where 
everything  ferments,  prided  himself  on  being,  above  all  things, 
a  philosopher.  He  would  say,  without  any  bitter  feeling : 

"  I  have  grand  talents,  but  of  what  use  are  they?  I  might 
as  well  have  been  an  idiot." 

And  he  blamed  himself  instead  of  accusing  mankind. 
Find,  if  you  can,  many  spies  who  have  not  more  venom 
about  them  than  Contenson  had. 

"  Circumstances  are  against  me,"  he  would  say  to  his  chiefs. 
"  We  might  be  fine  crystal ;  we  are  but  grains  of  sand,  that  is 
all." 

His  indifference  to  dress  had  some  sense.  He  cared  no 
more  about  his  everyday  clothes  than  an  actor  does ;  he 
excelled  in  disguising  himself,  in  "make-up;"  he  could  have 
given  Frederic  Lemaitre  a  lesson,  for  he  could  be  a  dandy 
when  necessary.  Formerly,  in  his  younger  days,  he  must 
have  mingled  in  the  out-at-elbows  society  of  people  living  on 
a  humble  scale.  He  expressed  excessive  disgust  for  the  crimi- 
nal police  corps ;  for,  under  the  Empire,  he  had  belonged  to 
Fouche's  police,  and  looked  upon  him  as  a  great  man.  Since 
the  suppression  of  this  Government  department,  he  had 
devoted  his  energies  to  the  tracking  of  commercial  defaulters ; 
but  his  well-known  talents  and  acumen  made  him  a  valuable 
auxiliary,  and  the  unrecognized  chiefs  of  the  political  police 
had  kept  his  name  on  their  lists.  Contenson,  like  his  fellows, 
was  only  a  super  in  the  dramas  of  which  the  leading  parts 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  113 

were  played  by  his  chief  when  a  political  investigation  was  in 
the  wind. 

"Go  'vay,"  said  Nucingen,  dismissing  his  secretary  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand. 

"  Why  should  this  man  live  in  a  mansion  and  I  in  a  lodg- 
ing?" wondered  Contenson  to  himself.  "He  has  dodged 
his  creditors  three  times;  he  has  robbed  them;  I  never  stole 
a  farthing;  I  am  a  cleverer  fellow  than  he  is " 

"Contenson,  mein  freund,"  said  the  baron,  "you  haf  vat 
you  call  pleed  me  of  one  tousand-franc  note." 

"  My  girl  owed  God  and  the  devil " 

"  Vat,  you  haf  a  girl,  a  mistress  ?  "  cried  Nucingen,  looking 
at  Contenson  with  admiration  not  unmixed  with  envy. 

"I  am  but  sixty-six,"  replied  Contenson,  as  a  man  whom 
vice  has  kept  young  as  a  bad  example. 

"And  vat  do  she  do?" 

"She  helps  me,"  said  Contenson.  "When  a  man  is  a 
thief,  and  an  honest  woman  loves  him,  either  she  becomes  a 
thief  or  he  becomes  an  honest  man.  I  have  always  been  a 
spy." 

"And  youvant  money — always?"  asked  Nucingen. 

"Always,"  said  Contenson,  with  a  smile.  "It  is  part  of 
my  business  to  want  money,  as  it  is  yours  to  make  it ;  we  shall 
easily  come  to  an  understanding.  You  find  me  a  little,  and  I 
will  undertake  to  spend  it.  You  shall  be  the  well,  and  I  the 
bucket." 

"Vould  you  like  to  haf  one  note  for  fife  hundert  francs?" 

"  What  a  question  !  But  what  a  fool  I  am  !  You  do  not 
offer  it  out  of  a  disinterested  desire  to  repair  the  slights  of 
Fortune?" 

"  Not  at  all.  I  gif  it  peside  the  one  tousand-franc  note  vat 
you  pleed  me  off.  Dat  makes  fifteen  hundert  francs  vat  I  gif 
you." 

"  Very  good,  you  give  me  the  thousand  francs  I  have  had, 
and  you  will  add  five  hundred  francs." 
'  8 


114  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS 

"  Yust  so,"  said  Nucingen,  nodding. 

"But  that  still  leaves  only  five  hundred  francs,"  said  Con- 
tenson  imperturbably. 

"  Dat  I  gif,"  added  the  baron. 

"That  I  take.  Very  good  ;  and  what,  Monsieur  le  Baron, 
do  you  want  for  it  ?  " 

"  I  haf  been  told  dat  dere  vas  in  Paris  one  man  vat  could 
find  the  woman  vot  I  lof,  and  dat  you  know  his  address.  A 
real  master  to  spy." 

"Very  true." 

"Veil  den,  gif  me  dat  address,  and  I  gif  you  fife  hundert 
franc." 

'•Where  are  they?  "  said  Contenson. 

"  Here  dey  are,"  said  the  baron,  drawing  a  note  out  of  his 
pocket. 

"All  right,  hand  them  over,"  said  Contenson,  holding  out 
his  hand. 

"  Noting  for  noting !  Let  us  see  de  man,  and  you  get  de 
money;  you  might  sell  to  me  many  address  at  dat  price." 

Contenson  began  to  laugh. 

"To  be  sure,  you  have  a  right  to  think  that  of  me,"  said 
he,  with  an  air  of  blaming  himself.  "  The  more  rascally  our 
business  is,  the  more  honesty  is  necessary.  But  look  here, 
Monsieur  le  Baron,  make  it  six  hundred,  and  I  will  give  you 
a  bit  of  advice." 

"  Gif  it,  and  trust  to  my  generosity." 

"I  will  risk  it,"  Contenson  said,  "but  it  is  playing  high. 
In  such  matters,  you  see,  we  have  to  work  underground. 
You  say :  '  Quick  march ! '  You  are  rich ;  you  think  that 
money  can  do  everything.  Well,  money  is  something,  no 
doubt.  Still,  money  can  only  buy  men,  as  the  two  or  three 
best  heads  in  our  force  so  often  say.  And  there  are  many 
things  you  would  never  think  of  which  money  cannot  buy. 
You  cannot  buy  goo'd  luck.  So  good  police  work  is  not  done 
in  this  style.  Will  you  show  yourself  in  a  carriage  with  me  ? 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  115 

We  should  be  seen.  Chance  is  just  as  often  for  us  as  against 
us." 

"  Really-truly  ?  "  said  the  baron. 

"  Why,  of  course,  sir.  A  horseshoe  picked  up  in  the  street 
led  the  chief  of  the  police  to  the  discovery  of  the  infernal 
machine.  Well,  if  we  were  to  go  to-night  in  a  hackney-coach 
to  Monsieur  de  Saint-Germain,  he  would  not  like  to  see  you 
walk  in  any  more  than  you  would  like  to  be  seen  going  there." 

"Dat  is  true,"  said  the  baron. 

"  Ah,  he  is  the  greatest  of  the  great  !  such  another  as  the 
famous  Corentin,  Fouche's  right  arm,  who  was,  some  say,  his 
natural  son,  born  while  he  was  still  a  priest ;  but  that  is  non- 
sense. Fouche  knew  how  to  be  a  priest  as  he  knew  how  to 
be  a  minister.  Well,  you  will  not  get  this  man  to  do  any- 
thing for  you,  you  see,  for  less  than  ten  thousand-franc  notes 
— think  of  that.  But  he  will  do  the  job,  and  do  it  well. 
Neither  seen  nor  heard,  as  they  say.  I  ought  to  give  Mon- 
sieur de  Saint-Germain  notice,  and  he  will  fix  a  time  for  your 
meeting  in  some  place  where  no  one  can  see  or  hear,  for  it 
is  a  dangerous  game  to  play  policeman  for  private  interests. 
Still,  what  is  to  be  said  ?  He  is  a  good  fellow,  the  king  of 
good  fellows,  and  a  man  who  has  undergone  much  persecu- 
tion, and  for  having  saved  his  country  too  ! — like  me,  like  all 
who  helped  to  save  it." 

"Veil  den,  write  and  name  de  happy  day,"  said  the  baron, 
smiling  at  his  humble  jest. 

"And  Monsieur  le  Baron  will  allow  me  to  drink  his 
health?"  said  Contenson,  with  a  manner  at  once  cringing 
and  threatening. 

"  Shean,"  cried  the  baron  to  the  gardener,  "go  and  tell 
Chorge  to  sent  me  one  twenty  francs,  and  pring  dem  to 
me " 

"  Still,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  if  you  have  no  more  information 
than  you  have  just  given  me,  I  doubt  whether  the  great  man 
can  be  of  any  use  to  you." 


116  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"I  know  off  oders  !  "  replied  the  baron  with  a  cunning 
look. 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  bid  you  good-morning,  Monsieur  le 
Baron,"  said  Contenson,  taking  the  twenty-franc  piece.  "  I 
shall  have  the  honor  of  calling  again  to  tell  Georges  whe-re 
you  are  to  go  this  evening,  for  we  never  write  anything  in 
such  cases  when  they  are  well  managed." 

"It  is  funny  how  sharp  dese  rascals  are  !  "  said  the  baron 
to  himself;  "it  is  de  same  mit  de  police  as  it  is  in  puss'niss." 

When  he  left  the  baron,  Contenson  went  quietly  from  the 
Rue  Saint-Lazare  to  the  Rue  Saint-Honore,  as  far  as  the  Cafe 
David.  He  looked  in  through  the  windows,  and  saw  an  old 
man  who  was  known  there  by  the  name  of  le  Pere  Canquoelle. 

The  Cafe  David,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  la  Monnaie 
and  the  Rue  Saint-Honore,  enjoyed  a  certain  celebrity  during 
the  first  thirty  years  of  the  century,  though  its  fame  was  limited 
to  the  quarter  known  as  that  of  the  Bourdonnais.  Here  cer- 
tain old  retired  merchants,  and  large  storekeepers  still  in 
trade,  were  wont  to  meet — the  Camusots,  the  Lebas,  the  Pil- 
lerault's,  the  Popinots,  and  a  few  house-owners  like  little  old 
Molineux.  Now  and  again  old  Guillaume  might  be  seen 
there,  coming  from  the  Rue  du  Colombier.  Politics  were  dis- 
cussed in  a  quiet  way,  but  cautiously,  for  the  opinions  of  the 
Cafe  David  were  liberal.  The  gossip  of  the  neighborhood 
was  repeated,  men  so  urgently  feel  the  need  of  laughing  at 
each  other  ! 

This  cafe,  like  all  cafes  for  that  matter,  had  its  eccentric 
character  in  the  person  of  the  said  Pere  Canquoelle,  who  had 
been  regular  in  his  attendance  there  since  1811,  and  who 
seemed  to  be  so  completely  in  harmony  with  the  good  people 
who  assembled  there,  that  they  all  talked  politics  in  his  pres- 
ence without  reserve.  Sometimes  this  old  fellow,  whose  guile- 
lessness  was  the  subject  of  much  laughter  to  the  customers, 
would  disappear  for  a  month  or  two ;  but  his  absence  never 


THE  HARLOT'1  S  PROGRESS.  .       117 

surprised  anybody,  and  was  always  attributed  to  his  infirmities 
or  his  great  age,  for  he  looked  more  than  sixty  in  1811. 

"What  has  become  of  old  Canquoelle?"  one  or  another 
would  ask  of  the  manageress  at  the  desk. 

"I  quite  expect  that  one  fine  day  we  shall  read  in  the  ad- 
vertisement-sheet that  he  is  dead,"  she  would  reply. 

Old  Canquoelle  bore  a  perpetual  certificate  of  his  native 
province  in  his  accent.  He  spoke  of  une  cstatue  (a  statue),  le 
peuble  (the  people),  and  said  ture  for  turc.  His  name  was 
that  of  a  tiny  estate  called  les  Canquoelles,  a  word  meaning 
cockchafer  in  some  districts,  situated  in  the  department  of 
Vaucluse,  whence  he  had  come.  At  last  every  one  had  fallen 
into  the  habit  of  calling  him  Canquoelle,  instead  of  des 
Canquoelles,  and  the  old  man  took  no  offense,  for  in  his 
opinion  the  nobility  had  perished  in  1793;  and>  beside,  the 
land  of  des  Canquoelles  did  not  belong  to  him;  he  was  a 
younger  son's  younger  son. 

Nowadays  old  Canquoelle's  costume  would  look  strange, 
but  between  1811  and  1820  it  astonished  no  one.  The  old 
man  wore  shoes  with  cut-steel  buckles,  silk  stockings  with 
stripes  round  the  leg,  alternately  blue  and  white,  corded  silk 
knee-breeches  with  oval  buckles  cut  to  match  those  on  his 
shoes.  A  white  embroidered  vest,  an  old  coat  of  olive-brown 
with  metal  buttons,  and  a  shirt  with  a  flat-pleated  frill  com- 
pleted his  costume.  In  the  middle  of  the  shirt-frill  twinkled 
a  small  gold  locket,  in  which  might  be  seen,  under  glass,  a 
little  temple  worked  in  hair,  one  of  those  pathetic  trifles  which 
give  men  confidence,  just  as  a  scarecrow  frightens  sparrows. 
Most  men,  like  other  animals,  are  frightened  or  reassured  by 
trifles.  Old  Canquoelle's  breeches  were  kept  in  place  by  a 
buckle  which,  in  the  fashion  of  the  last  century,  tightened 
them  across  the  stomach  ;  from  the  belt  hung  on  each  side  a 
short  steel  chain,  composed  of  several  finer  chains,  and  ending 
in  a  bunch  of  seals.  His  white  neckcloth  was  fastened  be- 
hind by  a  small  gold  buckle.  Finally,  on  his  snowy  and 


118  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

powdered  hair,  he  still,  in  1816,  wore  the  municipal  cocked 
hat  which  Monsieur  Try,  the  president  of  the  Law  Courts, 
also  used  to  wear.  But  Pere  Canquoelle  had  recently  substi- 
tuted for  his  hat,  so  dear  to  old  men,  the  undignified  top-hat, 
which  no  one  dares  to  rebel  against.  The  good  man  thought 
he  owed  so  much  as  this  to  the  spirit  of  the  age.  A  small 
pigtail  tied  with  a  ribbon  had  traced  a  semicircle  on  the  back 
of  his  coat,  the  greasy  mark  being  hidden  by  powder. 

If  you  looked  no  further  than  the  most  conspicuous  feature 
of  his  face,  a  nose  covered  with  excrescences  red  and  swollen 
enough  to  figure  in  a  dish  of  truffles,  you  might  have  inferred 
that  the  worthy  man  had  an  easy  temper,  foolish  and  easy- 
going, that  of  a  perfect  gaby ;  and  you  would  have  been  de- 
ceived, like  all  at  the  Cafe  David,  where  no  one  had  ever 
remarked  the  studious  brow,  the  sardonic  mouth,  and  the  cold 
eyes  of  this  old  man,  petted  by  his  vices,  and  as  calm  as 
Vitellius,  whose  imperial  and  portly  stomach  reappeared  in 
him  palingenetically,  so  to  speak. 

In  1816  a  young  commercial  traveler  named  Gaudissart, 
who  frequented  the  Cafe  David,  sat  drinking  from  eleven 
o'clock  till  midnight  with  a  half-pay  officer.  He  was  so  rash 
as  to  discuss  a  conspiracy  against  the  Bourbons,  a  rather 
serious  plot  then  on  the  point  of  execution.  There  was  no 
one  to  be  seen  in  the  cafe  but  Pere  Canquoelle,  who  seemed 
to  be  asleep,  two  waiters  who  were  dozing,  and  the  account- 
ant at  the  desk.  Within  four-and-twenty  hours  Gaudissart 
was  arrested,  the  plot  was  discovered.  Two  men  perished  on 
the  scaffold.  Neither  Gaudissart  nor  any  one  else  ever  sus- 
pected that  worthy  old  Canquoelle  of  having  peached.  The 
waiters  were  dismissed ;  for  a  year  they  were  all  on  their 
guard  and  afraid  of  the  police — as  Pere  Canquoelle  was  too ; 
indeed,  he  talked  of  retiring  from  the  Cafe  David,  such 
horror  had  he  of  the  police. 

Contenson  went  into  the  cafe,  asked  for  a  glass  of  brandy, 
and  did  not  look  at  Canquoelle,  who  sat  reading  the  papers ; 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  119 

but  when  he  had  gulped  down  the  brandy,  he  took  out  the 
baron's  gold-piece,  and  called  the  waiter  by  rapping  three 
short  taps  on  the  table.  The  lady  at  the  desk  and  the  waiter 
examined  the  coin  with  a  minute  care  that  was  not  flattering 
to  Contenson ;  but  their  suspicions  were  justified  by  the 
astonishment  produced  on  all  the  regular  customers  by  Con- 
tenson's  appearance. 

"  Was  that  gold  got  by  theft  or  by  murder  ?  " 

This  was  the  idea  that  rose  to  some  clear  and  shrewd  minds 
as  they  looked  at  Contenson  over  their  spectacles,  while  affect- 
ing to  read  the  news.  Contenson,  who  saw  everything,  and 
never  was  surprised  at  anything,  scornfully  wiped  his  lips  with 
a  bandana,  in  which  there  were  but  three  darns,  took  his 
change,  slipped  all  the  coppers  into  his  side-pocket,  of  which 
the  lining,  once  white,  was  now  as  black  as  the  cloth  of  the 
trousers,  and  did  not  leave  one  for  the  waiter. 

"  What  a  gallows-bird  !  "  said  Pere  Canquoelle  to  his  neigh- 
bor, Monsieur  Pillerault. 

"Pshaw!"  said  Monsieur  Camusot  to  all  the  company, 
for  he  alone  had  expressed  no  astonishment,  "  it  is  Contenson, 
Louchard's  right-hand  man,  the  police  agent  we  employ  in 
business.  The  rascals  want  to  nab  some  one  who  is  hanging 
about  perhaps." 

It  would  seem  necessary  to  explain  here  the  terrible  and 
profoundly  cunning  man  who  was  hidden  under  the  guise  of 
Pere  Canquoelle,  as  Vautrin  was  hidden  under  that  of  the 
Abbe  Carlos. 

Born  at  Canquoelles,  the  only  possession  of  his  family, 
which  was  highly  respectable,  this  Southerner's  name  was 
Peyrade.  He  belonged,  in  fact,  to  the  younger  branch  of 
the  Peyrade  family,  an  old  but  impoverished  house  of  Franche  v-» 
Comte,  still  owning  the  little  estate  of  la  Peyrade.  The 
seventh  child  of  his  father,  he  had  come  on  foot  to  Paris  in 
1772  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  with  two  crowns  of  six  francs  in 
his  pocket,  prompted  by  the  vices  of  an  ardent  spirit  and  the 


120  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

coarse  desire  to  "  get  oft,"  which  brings  so  many  men  to  Paris 
from  the  south  as  soon  as  they  understand  that  their  father's 
property  can  never  supply  them  with  means  to  gratify  their 
passions.  It  is  enough  to  say  of  Peyrade's  youth  that  in  1782 
he  was  in  the  confidence  of  chiefs  of  the  police  and  the  hero 
of  the  department,  highly  esteemed  by  Messrs.  Lenoir  and 
d'Albert,  the  last  lieutenant-generals  of  police. 

The  Revolution  had  no  police  ;  it  needed  none.  Espion- 
age, though  common  enough,  was  called  public  spirit. 

The  Directorate,  a  rather  more  regular  government  than 
that  of  the  committee  of  public  safety,  was  obliged  to  re- 
organize the  police,  and  the  first  Consul  completed  the  work 
by  instituting  a  prefect  of  police  and  a  department  of  police 
supervision. 

Peyrade,  a  man  knowing  the  traditions,  collected  the  force 
with  the  assistance  of  a  man  named  Corentin,  a  far  cleverer 
man  than  Peyrade,  though  younger ;  but  he  was  a  genius  only 
in  the  subterranean  ways  of  police  inquiries.  In  1808  the 
great  services  Peyrade  was  able  to  achieve  were  rewarded  by 
an  appointment  to  the  eminent  position  of  chief  commissioner 
of  police  at  Antwerp.  In  Napoleon's  mind  this  sort  of  police 
governorship  was  equivalent  to  a  minister's  post,  with  the 
duty  of  superintending  Holland.  At  the  end  of  the  campaign 
of  1809,  Peyrade  was  removed  from  Antwerp  by  an  order  in 
Council  from  the  Emperor,  carried  in  a  chaise  to  Paris 
between  two  gendarmes,  and  imprisoned  in  la  Force.  Two 
months  later  he  was  let  out  on  bail  furnished  by  his  friend 
Corentin,  after  having  been  subjected  to  three  examinations, 
each  lasting  six  hours,  in  the  office  of  the  head  of  police. 

Did  Peyrade  owe  his  overthrow  to  the  miraculous  energy 
he  displayed  in  aiding  Fouche  in  the  defense  of  the  French 
coast  when  threatened  by  what  was  known  at  the  time  as  the 
Walcheren  expedition,  when  the  Duke  of  Otranto  manifested 
such  abilities  as  alarmed  the  Emperor?  Fouche  thought  it 
probable  even  then ;  and  now,  when  everybody  knows  what 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  121 

went  on  in  the  Cabinet  Council  called  together  by  Cam- 
baceres,*  it  is  absolutely  certain.  The  ministers,  thunder- 
struck by  the  news  of  England's  attempt,  a  retaliation  on 
Napoleon  for  the  Boulogne  expedition,  and  taken  by  surprise 
when  the  Master  was  intrenched  in  the  island  of  Lobau, 
where  all  Europe  believed  him  to  be  lost,  had  not  an  idea 
which  way  to  turn.  The  general  opinion  was  in  favor  of 
sending  post-haste  to  the  Emperor ;  Fouche  alone  was  bold 
enough  to  sketch  a  plan  of  campaign,  which,  in  fact,  he 
carried  into  execution. 

"  Do  as  you  please,"  said  Cambaceres;  "but  I,  who  prefer 
to  keep  my  head  on  my  shoulders,  shall  send  a  report  to  the 
Emperor." 

It  is  well  known  that  the  Emperor  on  his  return  found  an 
absurd  pretext,  at  a  full  meeting  of  the  Council  of  State,  for 
discarding  his  minister  and  punishing  him  for  having  saved 
France  without  the  Sovereign's  help.  From  that  time  forth, 
Napoleon  had  doubled  the  hostility  of  Prince  de  Talleyrand 
and  the  Duke  of  Otranto,  the  only  two  great  politicians  formed 
by  the  Revolution,  who  might  perhaps  have  been  able  to  save 
Napoleon  in  1813. 

To  get  rid  of  Peyrade,  he  was  simply  accused  of  connivance 
in  favoring  smuggling  and  sharing  certain  profits  with  the 
great  merchants.  Such  an  indignity  was  hard  on  a  man  who 
had  earned  the  marshal's  baton  of  the  police  department  by 
the  great  services  he  had  done.  This  man,  who  had  grown 
old  in  active  business,  knew  all  the  secrets  of  every  Govern- 
ment since  1775,  when  he  had  entered  the  service.  The 
Emperor,  who  believed  himself  powerful  enough  to  create 
men  for  his  own  uses,  paid  no  heed  to  the  representations 
subsequently  laid  before  him  in  favor  of  a  man  who  was 
reckoned  as  one  of  the  most  trustworthy,  most  capable,  and 
most  acute  of  the  unknown  genii  whose  task  it  is  to  watch 
over  the  safety  of  a  State.  He  thought  he  could  put  Con- 
*  Duke  of  Parma. 


122  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

tenson  in  Peyrade's  place ;  but  Contenson  was  at  that  time 
employed  by  Corentin  for  his  own  benefit, 

Peyrade  felt  the  blow  all  the  more  keenly  because,  being 
greedy  and  a  libertine,  he  had  found  himself,  with  regard  to 
women,  in  the  position  of  a  pastry-cook  who  loves  sweetmeats. 
His  habits  of  vice  had  become  to  him  a  second  nature ;  he 
could  not  live  without  a  good  dinner,  without  gambling,  in 
short,  without  the  life  of  an  unpretentious  fine  gentleman,  in 
which  men  of  powerful  faculties  so  generally  indulge  when 
they  have  allowed  excessive  dissipation  to  become  a  necessity. 
Hitherto  he  had  lived  in  style  without  ever  being  expected  to 
entertain ;  and  living  well,  for  no  one  ever  looked  for  a  return 
from  him,  or  from  his  friend  Corentin.  He  was  cynically 
witty,  and  he  liked  his  profession  j  he  was  a  philosopher. 
And,  beside,  a  spy,  whatever  grade  he  may  hold  in  the 
machinery  of  the  police,  can  no  more  return  to  a  profession 
regarded  as  honorable  or  liberal,  than  a  prisoner  from  the 
hulks  can.  Once  branded,  once  matriculated,  spies  and  con- 
victs, like  deacons,  have  assumed  an  indelible  character. 
There  are  beings  on  whom  social  conditions  impose  an 
inevitable  fate. 

Peyrade,  for  his  further  woe,  was  very  fond  of  a  pretty  little 
girl  whom  he  knew  to  be  his  own  child  by  a  celebrated  actress 
to  whom  he  had  done  a  signal  service,  and  who,  for  three 
months,  had  been  grateful  to  him.  Peyrade,  who  had  sent 
for  his  child  from  Antwerp,  now  found  himself  without  em- 
ployment in  Paris  and  with  no  means  beyond  a  pension  of 
twelve  hundred  francs  a  year  allowed  him  by  the  police  depart- 
ment as  Lenoir's  old  disciple.  He  took  lodgings  in  the  Rue 
des  Moineaux  on  the  fourth  floor,  five  little  rooms,  at  a  rent 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  francs. 

If  any  man  should  be  aware  of  the  uses  and  sweets  of 
friendship,  is  it  not  the  moral  leper  known  to  the  world  as  a 
spy,  to  the  mob  as  a  mouchard,  to  the  department  as  an 
"agent?"  Peyrade  and  Corentin  were  such  friends  as 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  123 

Orestes  and  Pylades.  Peyrade  had  trained  Corentin  as  Vien 
trained  David ;  but  the  pupil  soon  surpassed  his  master. 
They  had  carried  out  more  than  one  undertaking  together. 
Peyrade,  happy  at  having  discerned  Corentin's  superior  abili- 
ties, had  started  him  in  his  career  by  preparing  a  success  for 
him.  He  obliged  his  disciple  to  make  use  of  a  mistress  who 
had  scorned  him  as  a  bait  to  catch  a  man  (see  "The 
Chouans").  And  Corentin  at  that  time  was  hardly  five-and 
twenty. 

Corentin,  who  had  been  retained  as  one  of  the  generals  of 
whom  the  minister  of  police  is  the  high  constable,  still  held 
under  the  Due  de  Rovigo  the  high  position  he  had  filled  under 
the  Duke  of  Otranto.  Now  at  that  time  the  general  police 
and  the  criminal  police  were  managed  on  similar  principles. 
When  any  important  business  was  on  hand,  an  account  was 
opened,  as  it  were,  for  the  three,  four,  five,  really  capable 
agents.  The  minister,  on  being  warned  of  some  plot,  by 
whatever  means,  would  say  to  one  of  his  colonels  of  the 
police  force — 

"  How  much  will  you  want  to  achieve  this  or  that  result  ?  " 
Corentin  or  Contenson  would  go  into  the  matter  and  reply — 

"Twenty,  thirty,  or  forty  thousand  francs." 

Then,  as  soon  as  the  order  was  given  to  go  ahead,  all  the 
means  and  the  men  were  left  to  the  judgment  of  Corentin  or 
the  agent  selected.  And  the  criminal  police  used  to  act  in 
the  same  way  to  discover  crimes  with  the  famous  Vidocq. 

Both  branches  of  the  police  chose  their  men  chiefly  from 
among  the  ranks  of  well-known  agents,  who  have  graduated 
in  the  business,  and  are,  as  it  were,  as  soldiers  of  the  secret 
army,  so  indispensable  to  a  government,  in  spite  of  the  public 
orations  of  philanthropists  or  narrow-minded  moralists.  But 
the  absolute  confidence  placed  in  two  men  of  the  temper  of 
Peyrade  and  Corentin  conveyed  to  them  the  right  of  employ- 
ing perfect  strangers,  under  the  risk,  moreover,  of  being 
responsible  to  the  minister  in  all  serious  cases.  Peyrade's  ex- 


124  THE  HARLOT* S  PROGRESS. 

perience  and  acumen  were  too  valuable  to  Corentin,  who, 
after  the  storm  of  1820  had  blown  over,  employed  his  old 
friend,  constantly  consulted  him,  and  contributed  largely  to 
his  maintenance.  Corentin  managed  to  put  about  a  thousand 
francs  a  month  into  Peyrade's  hands. 

Peyrade,  on  his  part,  did  Corentin  good  service.  In  1816 
Corentin,  on  the  strength  of  the  discovery  of  the  conspiracy 
in  which  the  Bonapartist  Gaudissart  was  implicated,  tried  to 
get  Peyrade  reinstated  in  his  place  in  the  police  office ;  but 
some  unknown  influence  was  working  against  Peyrade.  This 
was  the  reason  why : 

In  their  anxiety  to  make  themselves  necessary,  Peyrade, 
Corentin,  and  Contenson,  at  the  Duke  of  Otranto's  instiga- 
tion, had  organized  for  the  benefit  of  Louis  XVIII.  a  sort  of 
opposition  police  in  which  very  capable  agents  were  employed. 
Louis  XVIII.  died  possessed  of  secrets  which  will  remain 
secrets  from  the  best  informed  historians.  The  struggle 
between  the  general  police  of  the  kingdom  and  the  King's 
opposition  police  led  to  many  horrible  disasters,  of  which  a 
certain  number  of  executions  sealed  the  secrets.  This  is 
neither  the  place  nor  the  occasion  for  entering  into  details 
on  this  subject,  for  these  real  Scenes  of  Paris  Life  are  not 
Scenes  of  Political  Life.  Enough  has  been  said  to  show 
what  were  the  means  of  living  of  the  man  who  at  the  Cafe 
David  was  known  as  good  old  Canquoelle,  and  by  what  threads 
he  was  tied  to  the  terrible  and  mysterious  powers  of  the 
police. 

Between  1817  and  1822,  Corentin,  Contenson,  Peyrade, 
and  their  myrmidons  were  often  required  to  keep  watch  over 
the  minister  of  police  himself.  This  perhaps  explains  why 
the  minister  declined  to  employ  Peyrade  and  Contenson,  on 
whom  Corentin  contrived  to  cast  the  minister's  suspicions, 
in  order  to  be  able  to  make  use  of  his  friend  when  his  re- 
instatement was  evidently  out  of  the  question.  The  ministry 
put  their  faith  in  Corentin ;  they  enjoined  him  to  keep  an  eye 


THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  125 

on  Peyrade,  which  amused  Louis  XVIII.  Corentin  and  Pey- 
rade  were  then  masters  of  the  position.  Contenson,  long 
attached  to  Peyrade,  was  still  at  his  service.  He  had  joined 
the  force  of  the  commercial  police  (the  Gardes  du  Commerce) 
by  his  friend's  orders.  And,  in  fact,  as  a  result  of  the  sort  of 
zeal  that  is  inspired  by  a  profession  we  love,  these  two  chiefs 
liked  to  place  their  best  men  in  those  posts  whence  informa- 
tion was  most  likely  to  flow. 

And,  indeed,  Contenson's  vices  and  dissipated  habits,  which 
had  dragged  him  lower  than  his  two  friends,  consumed  so 
much  money,  that  he  needed  a  great  deal  of  business. 

Contenson,  without  committing  any  indiscretion,  had  told 
Louchard  that  he  knew  the  only  man  who  was  capable  of 
doing  what  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  required.  Peyrade  was, 
in  fact,  the  only  police-agent  who  could  act  on  behalf  of  a 
private  individual  with  impunity.  At  the  death  of  Louis 
XVIII. ,  Peyrade  had  not  only  ceased  to  be  of  consequence, 
but  had  lost  the  profits  of  his  position  as  spy-in-ordinary  to 
his  majesty.  Believing  himself  to  be  indispensable,  he  had 
lived  fast.  Women,  high  feeding,  and  the  club,  the  Cercle 
des  Etrangers,  had  prevented  this  man  from  saving,  and,  like 
all  men  cut  out  for  debauchery,  he  enjoyed  an  iron  constitu- 
tion. But  between  1826  and  1829,  when  he  was  nearly 
seventy-four  years  of  age,  he  had  stuck  half-way,  to  use  his 
own  expression.  Year  by  year  he  saw  his  comforts  dwindling. 
He  followed  the  police  department  to  its  grave,  and  saw  with 
regret  that  Charles  X. 's  government  was  departing  from  its 
good  old  traditions.  Every  session  saw  the  estimates  pared 
down  which  were  necessary  to  keep  up  the  police,  out  of 
hatred  for  that  method  of  government  and  a  firm  determina- 
tion to  reform  that  institution. 

"It  is  as  if  they  thought  they  could  cook  in  white  gloves," 
said  Peyrade  to  Corentin. 

In  1822  this  couple  foresaw  1830.  They  knew  how  bitterly 
Louis  XVIII.  hated  his  successor,  which  accounts  for  his 


126  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

recklessness  with  regard  to  the  younger  branch,  and  without 
which  his  reign  would  be  an  unanswerable  riddle. 

As  Peyrade  grew  older,  his  love  for  his  natural  daughter 
had  increased.  For  her  sake  he  had  adopted  his  citizen  guise, 
for  he  intended  that  his  Lydie  should  marry  respectably.  So 
for  the  last  three  years  he  had  been  especially  anxious  to  find 
a  corner,  either  at  the  prefecture  of  police,  or  in  the  general 
police  office — some  ostensible  and  recognized  post.  He  had 
ended  by  inventing  a  place,  of  which  the  necessity,  as  he  told 
Corentin,  would  sooner  or  later  be  felt.  He  was  anxious  to 
create  an  inquiry  office  at  the  prefecture  of  police,  to  be  inter- 
mediate between  the  Paris  police  in  the  strictest  sense,  the 
criminal  police,  and  the  superior  general  police,  so  as  to  enable 
the  supreme  board  to  profit  by  the  various  scattered  forces. 
No  one  but  Peyrade,  at  his  age,  and  after  fifty-five  years  of 
confidential  work,  could  be  the  connecting  link  between  the 
three  branches  of  the  police,  or  the  keeper  of  the  records  to 
whom  political  and  judicial  authority  alike  could  apply  for  the 
elucidation  of  certain  cases.  By  this  means  Peyrade  hoped, 
with  Corentin's  assistance,  to  find  a  husband  and  scrape  to- 
gether a  portion  for  his  little  Lydie.  Corentin  had  already 
mentioned  the  matter  to  the  director-general  of  the  police 
forces  of  the  realm,  without  naming  Peyrade;  and  the  direc- 
tor-general, a  man  from  the  south,  thought  it  necessary  that 
the  suggestion  should  come  from  the  chief  of  the  city  police. 

At  the  moment  when  Contenson  struck  three  raps  on  the 
table  with  the  gold-piece,  a  signal  conveying,  "I  want  to 
speak  to  you,"  the  senior  was  reflecting  on  this  problem: 
"  By  whom  and  under  what  pressure  can  the  prefect  of  police 
be  made  to  move?"  And  he  looked  like  a  noodle  studying 
his  "  Courrier  Francais." 

"Poor  Fouche !  "  thought  he  to  himself,  as  he  made  his 
way  along  the  Rue  Saint-Honore,  "that  great  man  is  dead  ! 
our  go-betweens  with  Louis  XVIII.  are  out  of  favor.  And, 


THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  127 

beside,  as  Corentin  said  only  yesterday,  nobody  believes  in 
the  activity  or  the  intelligence  of  a  man  of  seventy.  Oh,  why 
did  I  get  into  a  habit  of  dining  at  Very's,  of  drinking  choice 
wines,  of  singing  '  La  Mere  Godichon,'  of  gambling  when  I 
am  in  funds?  To  get  a  place  and  keep  it,  as  Corentin  says, 
it  is  not  enough  to  be  clever,  you  must  have  the  gift  of  man- 
agement. Poor  dear  Monsieur  Lenoir  was  right  when  he 
wrote  to  me  in  the  matter  of  the  Queen's  necklace  :  '  You  will 
never  do  any  good,'  when  he  heard  that  I  did  not  stay  under 
that  slut  Oliva's  bed." 

If  the  venerable  Pere  Canquoelle — he  was  called  so  in  the 
house — lived  on  in  the  Rue  des  Moineaux,  on  a  fifth  floor, 
you  may  depend  on  it  he  had  found  some  peculiarity  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  premises  which  favored  the  practice  of  his 
terrible  profession. 

The  house,  standing  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Saint-Roch, 
had  no  neighbors  on  one  side  ;  and  as  the  staircase  up  the 
middle  divided  it  into  two,  there  were  on  each  floor  two  per- 
fectly isolated  rooms.  These  two  rooms  looked  out  on  the 
Rue  Saint-Roch.  There  were  garret-rooms  above  the  fourth 
floor,  one  of  them  a  kitchen,  and  the  other  a  bedroom  for 
Pere  Canquoelle's  only  servant,  a  Fleming  named  Katt,  for- 
merly Lydie's  wet-nurse.  Old  Canquoelle  had  taken  one  of 
the  outside  rooms  for  his  bedroom,  and  the  other  for  his  study. 
The  study  ended  at  the  party-wall,  a  very  thick  one.  The 
window  opening  on  the  Rue  des  Moineaux  looked  on  a  blank 
wall  at  the  opposite  corner.  As  this  study  was  divided  from 
the  stairs  by  the  whole  width  of  Peyrade's  bedroom,  the 
•  friends  feared  no  eye,  no  ear,  as  they  talked  business  in  this 
study  made  on  purpose  for  his  detestable  trade. 

Peyrade,  as  a  further  precaution,  had  furnished  Katt's  room 
with  a  thick  straw  bed,  a  felt  carpet,  and  a  very  heavy  rug, 
under  the  pretext  of  making  his  child's  nurse  comfortable. 
He  had  also  stopped  up  the  chimney,  warming  his  room  by  a 
stove,  with  a  pipe  through  the  wall  to  the  Rue  Saint-Roch. 


128  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Finally,  he  laid  several  rugs  on  his  floor  to  prevent  the  slight- 
est sound  being  heard  by  the  neighbors  beneath.  An  expert 
himself  in  the  tricks  of  spies,  he  sounded  the  outer  wall,  the 
ceiling,  and  the  floor  once  a  week,  examining  them  as  if  he 
were  in  search  of  noxious  insects.  It  was  the  security  of  this 
room  from  all  witnesses  or  listeners  that  had  made  Corentin 
select  it  as  his  council-chamber  when  he  did  not  hold  a  meet- 
ing in  his  own  room. 

Where  Corentin  lived  was  known  to  no  one  but  the  chief 
of  the  superior  police  and  to  Peyrade ;  he  received  there  such 
personages  as  the  ministry  or  the  King  selected  to  conduct 
very  serious  cases;  but  no  agent  or  subordinate  ever  went 
there,  and  he  plotted  everything  connected  with  their  business 
at  Peyrade's.  In  this  unpretentious  room  schemes  were 
matured,  and  resolutions  passed,  which  would  have  furnished 
strange  records  and  curious  dramas  if  only  walls  could  talk. 
Between  1816  and  1826  the  highest  interests  were  discussed 
there.  There  first  germinated  the  events  which  grew  to  weigh 
on  France.  There  Peyrade  and  Corentin,  with  all  the 
foresight,  and  more  than  all  the  information  of  Bellart,  the 
attorney-general,  had  said  even  in  1819:  "If  Louis  XVIII. 
does  not  consent  to  strike  such  or  such  a  blow,  to  make  away 
with  such  or  such  a  prince,  is  it  because  he  hates  his  brother? 
He  must  wish  to  leave  him  heir  to  a  revolution." 

Peyrade's  door  was  graced  with  a  slate,  on  which  very 
strange  marks  might  sometimes  be  seen,  figures  scrawled  in 
chalk.  This  sort  of  devil's  algebra  bore  the  clearest  meaning 
to  the  initiated. 

Lydie's  rooms,  opposite  to  Peyrade's  shabby  lodging,  con- 
sisted of  an  anteroom,  a  little  drawing-room,  a  bedroom,  and 
a  small  dressing-room.  The  door,  like  that  of  Peyrade's 
room,  was  constructed  of  a  plate  of  sheet-iron  three  lines 
thick,  sandwiched  between  two  strong  oak  planks,  fitted  with 
locks  and  elaborate  hinges,  making  it  as  impossible  to  force  it 
as  if  it  were  a  prison  door.  Thus,  though  the  house  had  a 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  129 

public  passage  through  it,  with  a  store  below  and  no  door- 
keeper, Lydie  lived  there  without  a  fear.  The  dining-room,  the 
little  drawing-room,  and  her  bedroom — every  window-balcony 
a  hanging  garden — were  luxurious  in  their  Dutch  cleanliness. 

The  Flemish  nurse  had  never  left  Lydie,  whom  she  called 
her  daughter.  The  two  went  to  church  with  a  regularity  that 
gave  the  royalist  grocer,  who  lived  below,  in  the  corner  store, 
an  excellent  opinion  of  the  worthy  Canquoelle.  The  grocer's 
family,  kitchen,  and  counter-jumpers  occupied  the  second  floor 
and  the  entresol;  the  landlord  inhabited  the  third  floor ;  and 
the  fourth  floor  had  been  let  for  twenty  years  past  to  a  lapi- 
dary. Each  resident  had  a  key  of  the  street-door.  The 
grocer's  wife  was  all  the  more  willing  to  receive  letters  and 
parcels  addressed  to  these  three  quiet  households,  because  the 
grocer's  store  had  a  letter-box. 

Without  these  details,  strangers,  or  even  those  who  know 
Paris  well,  could  not  have  understood  the  privacy  and  qui- 
etude, the  isolation  and  safety  which  made  this  house  excep- 
tional in  Paris.  After  midnight,  Pere  Canquoelle  could  hatch 
plots,  receive  spies  or  ministers,  wives  or  hussies,  without  any 
one  on  earth  knowing  anything  about  it. 

Peyrade,  of  whom  the  Flemish  woman  would  say  to  the 
grocer's  cook,  "  He  would  not  hurt  a  fly  1  "  was  regarded  as 
the  best  of  men.  He  grudged  his  daughter  nothing,  Lydie, 
who  had  been  taught  music  by  Schmucke,  was  herself  a  musi- 
cian capable  of  composing ;  she  could  wash  in  a  sepia  drawing 
and  paint  in  gouache  and  water-color.  Every  Sunday  Pey- 
rade dined  at  home  with  her.  On  that  day  this  worthy  was 
wholly  paternal. 

Lydie,  religious  but  not  a  bigot,  took  the  sacrament  at 
Easter,  and  confessed  every  month.  Still,  she  allowed  her- 
self from  time  to  time  to  be  treated  to  the  play.  She  walked 
in  the  Tuileries  when  it  was  fine.  These  were  all  her  pleas- 
ures, for  she  led  a  sedentary  life.  Lydie,  who  worshiped  her 
father,  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  his  sinister  gifts  and  dark 
9 


130  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

employments.  Not  a  wish  had  ever  disturbed  this  innocent 
child's  pure  life.  Slight  and  handsome  like  her  mother, 
gifted  with  an  exquisite  voice,  and  a  delicate  face  framed  in 
fine  fair  hair,  she  looked  like  one  of  those  angels,  mystical 
rather  than  real,  which  some  of  the  early  painters  grouped  in 
the  background  of  the  Holy  Family.  The  glance  of  her  blue 
eyes  seemed  to  bring  a  beam  from  the  sky  on  those  she  favored 
with  a  look.  Her  dress,  quite  simple,  with  no  exaggeration 
of  fashion,  had  a  delightful  middle-class  modesty.  Picture 
to  yourself  an  old  satan  as  the  father  of  an  angel,  and  purified 
in  her  divine  presence,  and  you  will  have  an  idea  of  Peyrade 
and  his  daughter.  If  anybody  had  soiled  this  jewel,  her 
father  would  have  invented,  to  swallow  him  alive,  one  of 
those  dreadful  plots  in  which,  under  the  Restoration,  the  un- 
happy wretches  were  trapped  who  were  designate  to  die  on 
the  scaffold.  A  thousand  crowns  were  ample  maintenance 
for  Lydie  and  Katt,  whom  she  called  nurse. 

As  Peyrade  turned  into  the  Rue  des  Moineaux,  he  saw 
Contenson  ;  he  outstripped  him,  went  upstairs  before  him, 
heard  the  man's  steps  on  the  stairs,  and  admitted  him  before 
the  woman  had  put  her  nose  out  of  the  kitchen  door.  A  bell 
rung  by  the  opening  of  a  glass-door,  on  the  fourth  story  where 
the  lapidary  lived,  warned  the  residents  on  that  and  the  other 
floors  when  a  visitor  was  coming  to  them.  It  need  hardly  be 
said  that,  after  midnight,  Peyrade  muffled  this  bell. 

"What  is  up  in  such  a  hurry,  philosopher?" 

Philosopher  was  the  nickname  bestowed  on  Contenson  by 
Peyrade,  and  well  merited  by  this  Epictetus  among  police- 
agents.  The  name  of  Contenson,  alas !  hid  one  of  the  most 
ancient  names  of  feudal  Normandy. 

"  Well,  there  is  something  like  ten  thousand  francs  to  be 
netted." 

"What  is  it?     Political?" 

"  No,  a  piece  of  idiocy.  Baron  de  Nucingen,  you  know, 
the  old  certified  swindler,  is  neighing  after  a  woman  he  saw 


THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  131 

in  the  Bois  de  Vincennes,  and  she  has  got  to  be  found,  or  he 
will  die  of  love.  They  had  a  consultation  of  doctors  yester- 
day, by  what  his  man  tells  me.  I  have  already  eased  him  of 
a  thousand  francs  under  pretense  of  seeking  the  fair  one." 

And  Contenson  related  Nucingen's  meeting  with  Esther, 
adding  that  the  baron  had  now  some  further  information. 

"All  right,"  said  Peyrade,  "we  will  find  his  Dulcinea; 
tell  the  baron  to  come  to-night  in  a  carriage  to  the  Champs- 
Elysees — the  corner  of  the  Avenue  de  Gabriel  and  the  Alice 
de  Marigny." 

Peyrade  saw  Contenson  out,  and  knocked  at  his  daughter's 
rooms,  as  he  always  knocked  to  be  let  in.  He  was  full  of 
glee ;  chance  had  just  offered  the  means,  at  last,  of  getting 
the  place  he  longed  for. 

He  flung  himself  into  a  deep  armchair,  after  kissing  Lydie 
on  the  forehead,  and  said — 

"  Play  me  something." 

Lydie  played  him  a  composition  for  the  piano  by  Beethoven. 

"That  is  very  well  played,  my  pet,"  said  he,  taking  Lydie 
on  his  knees.  "  Do  you  know  that  we  are  one-and-twenty 
years  old  ?  We  must  get  married  soon,  for  our  old  daddy  is 
more  than  seventy " 

"I  am  quite  happy  here,"  said  she. 

"You  love  no  one  but  your  ugly  old  father?"  asked 
Peyrade. 

"  Why,  whom  should  I  love  ?  " 

"lam  dining  at  home,  my  darling;  go  and  tell  Katt.  I 
am  thinking  of  settling,  of  getting  an  appointment,  and  find- 
ing a  husband  worthy  of  you ;  some  good  young  man,  very 
clever,  whom  you  may  some  day  be  proud  of " 

"I  have  never  seen  but  one  yet  that  I  should  have  liked  for 
a  husband " 

"You  have  seen  one  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  the  Tuileries,"  replied  Lydie.  "  He  walked  past 
me;  he  was  giving  his  arm  to  the  Comtesse  de  Serizy." 


132  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"And  his  name  is?" 

"Lucien  de  Rubempre.  I  was  sitting  with  Katt  under  a 
lime-tree,  thinking  of  nothing.  There  were  two  ladies  sitting 
by  me,  and  one  said  to  the  other,  '  There  are  Madame  de 
Serizy  and  that  handsome  Lucien  de  Rubempre.'  I  looked  at 
the  couple  the  two  ladies  were  watching.  '  Oh,  my  dear  ! ' 
said  the  other,  *  some  women  are  very  lucky  !  That  woman 
is  allowed  to  do  everything  she  pleases  just  because  she  was  a 
de  Ronquerolles,  and  her  husband  is  in  power.'  'But,  my 
dear,'  said  the  other  lady,  'Lucien  costs  her  very  dear.' 
What  did  she  mean,  papa?  " 

"Just  nonsense,  such  as  people  of  fashion  will  talk," 
replied  Peyrade,  with  an  air  of  perfect  candor.  "Perhaps 
they  were  alluding  to  political  matters." 

"  Well,  in  short,  you  asked  me  a  question,  so  I  answer  you. 
If  you  want  me  to  marry,  find  me  a  husband  just  like  that 
young  man." 

"  Silly  child  !  "  replied  her  father.  "  The  fact  that  a  man 
is  handsome  is  not  always  a  sign  of  goodness.  Young  men 
gifted  with  an  attractive  appearance  meet  with  no  obstacles 
at  the  beginning  of  life,  so  they  make  no  use  of  any  talent ; 
they  are  corrupted  by  the  advances  made  to  them  by  society, 
and  they  have  to  pay  interest  later  for  their  attractiveness ! 
What  I  should  like  for  you  is  what  the  middle-classes,  the 
rich,  and  the  fools  leave  unholpen  and  unprotected " 

"What,  father?" 

"An  unrecognized  man  of  talent.  But,  there,  child;  I 
have  it  in  my  power  to  hunt  through  every  garret  in  Paris,  and 
carry  out  your  programme  by  offering  for  your  affection  a  man 
as  handsome  as  the  young  scamp  you  speak  of ;  but  a  man  of 
promise,  with  a  future  before  him  destined  to  glory  and  for- 
tune. By  the  way,  I  was  forgetting.  I  must  have  a  whole 
flock  of  nephews,  and  among  them  there  must  be  one  worthy 
of  you  !  I  will  write,  or  get  some  one  to  write  to  Provence." 

A  strange   coincidence !     At  this  moment  a  young  man, 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  133 

half-dead  of  hunger  and  fatigue,  who  had  come  on  foot  from 
the  department  of  Vaucluse — a  nephew  of  Pere  Canquoelle's, 
in  search  of  his  uncle — was  entering  Paris  through  the  Bar- 
riere  de  1'Italie.  In  the  day-dreams  of  the  family,  ignorant 
of  this  uncle's  fate,  Peyrade  had  supplied  the  text  for  many 
hopes ;  he  was  supposed  to  have  returned  from  India  with  mil- 
lions !  Stimulated  by  these  fireside  romances,  this  grand- 
nephew,  named  Theodore,  had  started  on  a  voyage  round  the 
world  in  quest  of  this  eccentric  uncle. 

After  enjoying  for  some  hours  the  joys  of  paternity,  Pey- 
rade, his  hair  washed  and  dyed — for  his  powder  was  a  dis- 
guise— dressed  in  a  stout,  coarse,  blue  frock-coat  buttoned  up 
to  the  chin,  and  a  black  cloak,  shod  in  strong,  thick-soled 
boots,  furnished  himself  with  a  private  card  and  walked 
slowly  along  the  Avenue  Gabriel,  where  Contenson,  dressed 
as  an  old  costermonger  woman,  met  him  in  front  of  the  gar- 
dens of  the  Elysee-Bourbon. 

"Monsieur  de  Saint-Germain,"  said  Contenson,  giving  his 
old  chief  the  name  he  was  officially  known  by,  "  you  have  put 
me  in  the  way  of  making  five  hundred  pieces  (francs) ;  but 
what  I  came  here  for  was  to  tell  you  that  that  damned  baron, 
before  he  gave  me  the  shiners,  had  been  to  ask  questions  at 
the  house  (the  prefecture  of  police)." 

"I  shall  want  you,  no  doubt,"  replied  Peyrade.  "Look 
up  numbers  7,  10,  and  21 ;  we  can  employ  those  men  without 
any  one  finding  it  out,  either  at  the  police  ministry  or  at  the 
prefecture." 

Contenson  went  back  to  a  post  near  the  carriage  in  which 
Monsieur  de  Nucingen  was  waiting  for  Peyrade. 

"I  am  Monsieur  de  Saint-Germain,"  said  Peyrade  to  the 
baron,  raising  himself  to  look  over  the  carriage-door. 

"  Ver'  goot;  get  in  mit  me,"  replied  the  baron,  ordering 
the  coachman  to  go  on  slowly  to  the  Arc  de  1'Etoile. 

"  You  have  been  to  the  prefecture  of  police,  Monsieur  IQ 


134  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Baron  ?  That  was  not  fair.  Might  I  ask  what  you  said  to 
Monsieur  le  PreTet,  and  what  he  said  in  reply?"  asked  Pey- 
rade. 

"  Before  I  should  gife  fife  hundert  francs  to  a  filain  like  Con- 
tenson,  I  vant  to  know  if  he  had  earned  dem.  I  simply  said 
to  the  prefect  of  police  dat  I  vant  to  employ  ein  agent  name 
Peyrate  to  go  abroat  in  a  delicate  matter,  an'  should  I  trust 
him — unlimited  !  The  prefect  telt  me  you  vas  a  very  defer 
man  an*  ver'  honest  man.  An'  dat  vas  everyting." 

"  And  now  that  you  have  learnt  my  true  name,  Monsieur 
le  Baron,  will  you  tell  me  what  it  is  you  want  ?  " 

When  the  baron  had  given  a  long  and  copious  explanation, 
in  his  hideous  Polish-Jew  dialect,  of  his  meeting  with  Esther 
and  the  cry  of  the  man  behind  the  carriage,  and  his  vain 
efforts,  he  ended  by  relating  what  had  occurred  at  his  house 
the  night  before,  Lucien's  involuntary  smile,  and  the  opinion 
expressed  by  Bianchon  and  some  other  young  dandies  that 
there  must  be  some  acquaintance  between  him  and  the  un- 
known fair. 

"Listen  to  me,  Monsieur  le  Baron  ;  you  must,  in  the  first 
instance,  place  ten  thousand  francs  in  my  hands,  on  account 
for  expenses ;  for,  to  you,  this  is  a  matter  of  life  or  death ; 
and  as  your  life  is  a  business-manufactory,  nothing  must  be 
left  undone  to  find  this  woman  for  you.  Oh,  then,  but  you 
are  caught! " 

"  Ja,  I  am  caught !  " 

"  If  more  money  is  wanted,  baron,  I  will  let  you  know ; 
put  your  trust  in  me,"  said  Peyrade.  "  I  am  not  a  spy,  as 
you  perhaps  imagine.  In  1807  I  was  commissioner-general  of 
police  at  Antwerp ;  and  now  that  Louis  XVIII.  is  dead,  I 
may  tell  you  in  confidence  that  for  seven  years  I  was  the  chief 
of  his  counter-police.  So  there  is  no  beating  me  down.  You 
must  understand,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
make  any  estimate  of  the  cost  of  each  man's  conscience  before 
going  into  the  details  of  such  an  affair.  Be  quite  easy ;  I  shall 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  135 

succeed.     Do  not  fancy  that  you  can  satisfy  me  with  a  sum  of 
money  j  I  want  something  else  for  my  reward " 

"  So  long  as  dat  is  not  a  kingtom  !  "  said  the  baron. 

"  It  is  less  than  nothing  to  you." 

"  Den  I  am  your  man." 

"  You  know  the  Kellers? " 

"Oh!  ver' well." 

"  Francois  Keller  is  the  Comte  de  Gondreville's  son-in-law, 
and  the  Comte  de  Grondreville  and  his  son-in-law  dined  with 
you  yesterday." 

"Who  der  teufel  toll  you  dat?"  cried  the  baron.  "Dat 
vill  be  Georche ;  he  is  alvays  a  gossip."  Peyrade  smiled,  and 
the  banker  at  once  formed  strange  suspicions  of  his  man- 
servant. 

"  The  Comte  de  Gondreville  is  quite  in  a  position  to 
obtain  me  a  place  I  covet  at  the  prefecture  of  police ;  within 
forty-eight  hours  the  prefect  will  have  notice  that  such  a  place 
is  to  be  created,"  said  Peyrade  in  continuation.  "  Ask  for  it 
for  me ;  get  the  Comte  de  Gondreville  to  interest  himself  in 
the  matter  with  some  degree  of  warmth — and  you  will  thus  • 
repay  me  for  the  service  I  am  about  to  do  you.  I  ask  your 
word  only ;  for,  if  you  fail  me,  sooner  or  later  you  will  curse 
the  day  you  were  born — you  have  Peyrade's  word  for  that." 

"  I  gif  you  mein  vort  of  honor  to  do  vat  is  possible." 

"  If  I  do  no  more  for  you  than  is  possible,  it  will  not  be 
enough." 

"Veil,  veil,  I  vill  act  qvite  frankly." 

"  Frankly — that  is  all  I  ask,"  said  Peyrade,  "  and  frankness 
is  the  only  thing  at  all  new  that  you  and  I  can  offer  to  each 
other." 

"Frankly,"  echoed  the  baron.  "Vere  shall  I  put  you 
down." 

"At  the  corner  of  the  Pont  Louis  XVI." 

"To  the  Pont  de  la  Chambre,"  said  the  baron  to  the  foot- 
man at  the  carriage-door. 


136  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"Then  I  am  to  get  dat  unknown  person,"  said  the  baron 
to  himself  as  he  drove  home. 

"What  a  queer  business!"  thought  Peyrade,  going  back 
on  foot  to  the  Palais-Royal,  where  he  intended  trying  to 
multiply  his  ten  thousand  francs  by  three,  to  make  a  little 
fortune  for  Lydie.  "Here  am  I  required  to  look  into  the 
private  concerns  of  the  very  young  man  who  has  bewitched 
my  little  girl  by  a  glance.  He  is,  I  suppose,  one  of  those 
men  who  have  an  eye  for  a  woman,"  said  he  to  himself,  using 
an  expression  of  a  language  of  his  own,  in  which  his  obser- 
vations, or  Corentin's,  were  summed  up  in  words  that  were 
anything  rather  than  classical,  but,  for  that  very  reason,  ener- 
getic and  picturesque. 

The  Baron  de  Nucingen,  when  he  went  in,  was  an  altered 
man ;  he  astonished  his  household  and  his  wife  by  showing 
them  a  face  full  of  life  and  color,  so  cheerful  did  he  feel. 

"Our  shareholders  had  better  look  out  for  themselves," 
said  du  Tillet  to  Rastignac. 

They  were  all  at  tea,  in  Delphine  de  Nucingen's  boudoir, 
having  come  in  from  the  opera. 

"Ja,"  said  the  baron,  smiling;  "I  feel  ver*  much  dat  I 
shall  do  some  business." 

"Then  you  have  seen  the  fair  being?"  asked  Madame  de 
Nucingen. 

"No,"  said  he;  "I  haf  only  hoped  to  see  her." 

"Do  men  ever  love  their  wives  so?"  cried  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  feeling,  or  affecting  to  feel,  a  little  jealous. 

"When  you  have  got  her,  you  must  ask  us  to  sup  with 
her,"  said  du  Tillet  to  the  baron,  "for  I  am  very  curious 
to  study  the  creature  who  has  made  you  so  young  as  you 
are." 

"She  is  a  cheff- d' ceufre  of  creation!"  replied  the  old 
banker. 

"He  will  be  swindled  like  a  boy  "  said  Rastignac  in  Del- 
phine's  ear. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS  137 

"  Pooh  !  he  makes  quite  enough  money  to " 

"To  give  a  little  back,  I  suppose,"  said  du  Tillet,  inter- 
rupting the  baroness. 

Nucingen  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room  as  if  his  legs 
had  the  fidgets. 

"Now  is  your  time  to  make  him  pay  your  fresh  debts," 
said  Rastignac  in  the  baroness'  ear* 

At  this  very  moment  the  abbe  was  leaving  the  Rue  Taitbout 
full  of  hope ;  he  had  been  there  to  give  some  last  advice  to 
Europe,  who  was  to  play  the  principal  part  in  the  farce  devised 
to  take  in  the  Baron  de  Nucingen.  He  was  accompanied  as 
far  as  the  boulevard  by  Lucien,  who  was  not  at  all  easy  at 
finding  this  demon  so  perfectly  disguised  that  even  he  had 
only  recognized  him  by  his  voice. 

"  Where  the  devil  did  you  find  a  handsomer  woman  than 
Esther? "  he  asked  his  evil  genius. 

"  My  boy,  there  is  no  such  thing  to  be  found  in  Paris. 
Such  a  complexion  is  not  made  in  France." 

"  I  assure  you,  I  am  still  quite  amazed.  Venus  Callipyge 
has  not  such  a  figure.  A  man  would  lose  his  soul  for  her. 
But  whence  did  she  spring?  " 

"  She  was  the  handsomest  girl  in  London.  Drunk  with 
gin,  she  killed  her  lover  in  a  fit  of  jealousy.  The  lover  was 
a  wretch  of  whom  the  London  police  are  well  quit,  and  this 
woman  has  been  packed  off  to  Paris  for  a  time  to  let  the 
matter  blow  over.  The  hussy  was  well  brought  up — the 
daughter  of  a  clergyman.  She  speaks  French  as  if  it  were 
her  mother  tongue.  She  does  not  know,  and  never  will 
know,  why  she  is  here.  She  was  told  that  if  you  took  a  fancy 
to  her  she  might  fleece  you  of  millions,  but  that  you  were  as 
jealous  as  a  tiger,  and  she  was  told  how  Esther  lived." 

"But  supposing  Nucingen  should  prefer  her  to  Esther?" 

"Ah,  it  is  out  at  last!  "  cried  Carlos.  "You  dread  now 
lest  what  dismayed  you  yesterday  should  not  take  place  after 
all !  Be  quite  easy.  That  fair  and  fair-haired  girl  has  blue 


138  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

eyes ;  she  is  the  antipodes  of  the  beautiful  Jewess,  and  only 
such  eyes  as  Esther's  could  ever  stir  a  man  so  rotten  as 
Nucingen.  What  the  devil  !  you  could  not  hide  an  ugly 
woman.  When  this  puppet  has  played  her  part,  I  will  send 
her  off  in  safe  custody  to  Rome  or  to  Madrid,  where  she  will 
be  the  rage." 

"If  we  have  her  only  for  a  short  time,"  said  Lucien,  "I 
will  go  back  to  her " 

"  Go,  my  boy,  amuse  yourself.  You  will  be  a  day  older 
to-morrow.  For  my  part,  I  must  wait  for  some  one  whom 
I  have  instructed  to  learn  what  is  going  on  at  the  Baron  de 
Nucingen's." 

"Who?" 

"His  valet's  mistress;  for,  after  all,  we  must  keep  our- 
selves informed  at  every  moment  of  what  is  going  on  in  the 
enemy's  camp." 

At  midnight,  Paccard,  Esther's  tall  footman,  met  Carlos 
on  the  Pont  des  Arts,  the  most  favorable  spot  in  all  Paris  for 
saying  a  few  words  which  no  one  must  overhear.  All  the 
time  they  talked  the  servant  kept  an  eye  on  one  side,  while 
his  master  looked  out  on  the  other. 

"The  baron  went  to  the  prefecture  of  police  this  morning 
between  four  and  five,"  said  the  man,  "and  he  boasted  this 
evening  that  he  should  find  the  woman  he  saw  in  the  Bois  de 
Vincennes — he  had  been  promised  it " 

"  We  are  watched  !  "  said  Carlos.     "  By  whom  ?  " 

"They  have  already  employed  Louchard  the  bailiff,"  said 
Herrera's  retainer. 

"  That  would  be  child's  play,"  replied  Carlos.  "  We  need 
fear  nothing  but  the  guardians  of  public  safety,  the  criminal 
police ;  and  so  long  as  that  is  not  set  in  motion,  we  can  go 
on!" 

"That  is  not  all." 

"What  else?" 

"  Our  chums  of  the  hulks.    I  saw  Lapouraille  yesterday 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  139 

He  has  choked  off  a  married  couple,  and  has  bagged  ten 
thousand  five-franc  pieces — in  gold." 

"  He  will  be  nabbed,"  said  Jacques  Collin.  "  That  is  the 
Rue  Boucher  crime." 

"What  is  the  order  of  the  day?"  said  Paccard,  with  the 
respectful  demeanor  a  marshal  must  have  assumed  when  taking 
his  orders  from  Louis  XVIII. 

"You  must  get  out  every  evening  at  ten  o'clock,"  replied 
Herrera.  "  Make  your  way  pretty  briskly  to  the  Bois  de 
Vincennes,  the  Bois  de  Meudon,  and  de  Ville-d'Avray.  If 
any  one  should  follow  you,  let  them  do  it ;  be  free  of  speech, 
chatty,  open  to  a  bribe.  Talk  about  Rubempre's  jealousy 
and  his  mad  passion  for  madame,  saying  that  he  would  not  on 
any  account  have  it  known  that  he  had  a  mistress  of  that 
kind." 

"  Enough.     Must  I  have  any  weapons?  " 

"Never!"  exclaimed  Carlos  vehemently.  "A  weapon? 
Of  what  use  would  that  be  ?  To  get  us  into  a  scrape.  Do 
not  under  any  circumstances  use  your  hunting-knife.  When 
you  know  that  you  can  break  the  strongest  man's  legs  by  the 
trick  I  showed  you — when  you  can  hold  your  own  against 
three  armed  warders,  feeling  quite  sure  that  you  can  account 
for  two  of  them  before  they  have  got  out  flint  and  steel,  what 
is  there  to  be  afraid  of?  Have  not  you  your  cane? " 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  man. 

Paccard,  nicknamed  the  Old  Guard,  Old  Wide- Awake,  or 
The  Right  Man — a  man  with  legs  of  iron,  arms  of  steels, 
Italian  whiskers,  hair  like  an  artist's,  a  beard  like  a  sapper's, 
and  a  face  as  colorless  and  immovable  as  Contenson's,  kept 
his  spirit  to  himself,  and  rejoiced  in  a  sort  of  drum-major  ap- 
pearance which  disarmed  suspicion.  A  fugitive  from  Poissy 
or  Melun  has  no  such  serious  self-consciousness  and  belief  in 
his  own  merit.  As  Giafar  to  the  Haroun  el  Rasheed  of  the 
hulks,  he  served  him  with  the  friendly  admiration  which 
Peyrade  felt  for  Corentin. 


140  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

This  huge  fellow,  with  a  small  body  in  proportion  to  his 
legs,  flat-chested,  and  lean  of  limb,  stalked  solemnly  about  on 
his  two  long  pins.  Whenever  his  right  leg  moved,  his  right 
eye  took  in  everything  around  him  with  the  placid  swiftness 
peculiar  to  thieves  and  spies.  The  left  eye  followed  the  right 
eye's  example.  Wiry,  nimble,  ready  for  anything  at  any 
time,  but  for  a  weakness  for  Dutch  courage  Paccard  would 
have  been  perfect,  Jacques  Collin  used  to  say,  so  completely 
was  he  endowed  with  the  talents  indispensable  to  a  man  at 
war  with  society;  but  the  master  had  succeeded  in  persuading 
his  slave  to  drink  only  in  the  evening.  On  going  home  at 
night,  Paccard  tippled  the  liquid  gold,  that  choicest  German 
liqueur,  poured  into  small  glasses  out  of  a  pot-bellied  stone 
jar  from  Danzig. 

"We  will  make  them  open  their  eyes,"  said  Paccard,  put- 
ting on  his  grand  hat  and  feathers  after  bowing  to  Carlos, 
whom  he  called  his  confessor. 

These  were  the  events  which  had  led  three  men,  so  clever, 
each  in  his  way,  as  Jacques  Collin,  Peyrade,  and  Corentin,  to 
a  hand-to-hand  fight  on  the  same  ground,  each  exerting  his 
talents  in  a  struggle  for  his  own  passions  or  interests.  It  was 
one  of  those  obscure  but  terrible  conflicts  on  which  are  ex- 
pended in  marches  and  countermarches,  in  strategy,  skill, 
hatred,  and  vexation,  the  powers  that  might  make  a  fine  for- 
tune. Men  and  means  were  kept  absolutely  secret  by  Peyrade, 
seconded  in  this  business  by  his  friend  Corentin — a  business 
they  thought  but  a  trifle.  And  so,  as  to  them,  history  is 
silent,  as  it  is  on  the  true  causes  of  many  revolutions. 

But  this  was  the  result — 

Five  days  after  Monsieur  de  Nucingen's  interview  with 
Peyrade  in  the  Champs-Elysees,  a  man  of  about  fifty  called  in 
the  morning,  stepping  out  of  a  handsome  tilbnry,  and  flinging 
the  reins  to  his  servant.  He  had  the  dead-white  complexion 
which  a  life  in  the  "world  "  gives  to  diplomatists,  was  dressed 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  141 

in  blue  cloth,  and  had  a  general  air  of  fashion — almost  that  of 
a  minister  of  State. 

He  inquired  of  the  servant  who  sat  on  a  bench  on  the  steps 
whether  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  was  at  home ;  and  the  man 
respectfully  threw  open  the  splendid  plate-glass  doors. 

"Your  name,  sir?"  said  the  footman. 

"Tell  the  baron  that  I  have  come  from  the  Avenue 
Gabriel,"  said  Corentin.  "If  anybody  is  with  him,  be  sure 
not  to  say  so  too  loud,  or  you  will  find  yourself  out  of  place  !  " 

A  minute  later  the  man  came  back  and  led  Corentin  by  the 
back  passages  to  the  baron's  private  room. 

Corentin  and  the  banker  exchanged  impenetrable  glances, 
and  both  bowed  politely. 

"  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  Corentin,  "  I  come  in  the  name 
of  Peyrade " 

"  Ver'  goot!  "  said  the  baron,  fastening  the  bolts  of  both 
doors. 

"  Monsieur  de  Rubempre's  mistress  lives  in  the  Rue 
Taitbout,  in  the  apartment  formerly  occupied  by  Mademoi- 
selle de  Bellefeuille,  Monsieur  de  Granville's  ex-mistress — the 
attorney-general ' ' 

"Vat,  so  near  to  me?"  exclaimed  the  baron.  "  Dat  is 
ver'  strange." 

"  I  can  quite  understand  your  being  crazy  about  that 
splendid  creature;  it  was  a  pleasure  to  me  to  look  at  her," 
replied  Corentin.  "  Lucien  is  so  jealous  of  that  girl  that  he 
never  allows  her  to  be  seen ;  and  she  loves  him  devotedly ; 
for  in  four  years,  since  she  succeeded  la  Bellefeuille  in  those 
rooms,  inheriting  her  furniture  and  her  profession,  neither  the 
neighbors,  nor  the  porter,  nor  the  other  tenants  in  the  house 
have  ever  set  eyes  on  her.  My  lady  never  stirs  out  but  at 
night.  When  she  sets  out,  the  blinds  of  the  carriage  are 
pulled  down,  and  she  is  closely  veiled. 

"  Lucien  has  other  reasons  beside  jealousy  for  concealing 
this  woman.  He  is  to  be  married  to  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu, 


142  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

and  he  is  at  this  moment  Madame  de  Serizy's  favorite  fancy. 
He  naturally  wishes  to  keep  a  hold  on  his  fashionable  mistress 
•  and  on  his  promised  bride.  So,  you  are  master  of  the  posi- 
tion, for  Lucien  will  sacrifice  his  pleasure  to  his  interests  and 
his  vanity.  You  are  rich  ;  this  is  probably  your  last  chance 
of  happiness;  be  liberal.  You  can  gain  your  end  through 
her  waiting-maid.  Give  the  slut  ten  thousand  francs;  she 
will  hide  you  in  her  mistress'  bedroom.  It  must  be  quite 
worth  that  to  you." 

No  figure  of  speech  could  describe  the  short,  precise  tone 
of  finality  in  which  Corentin  spoke;  the  baron  could  not  fail 
to  observe  it,  and  his  face  expressed  his  astonishment — an 
expression  he  had  long  since  expunged  from  his  impenetrable 
features. 

"  I  have  also  to  ask  you  for  five  thousand  francs  for  my 
friend  Peyrade,  who  has  dropped  five  of  your  thousand-franc 
notes — a  tiresome  accident,"  Corentin  went  on,  in  a  lordly 
tone  of  command.  "  Peyrade  knows  his  Paris  too  well  to 
spend  money  in  advertising,  and  he  trusts  entirely  to  you. 
But  this  is  not  the  most  important  point,"  added  Corentin, 
checking  himself  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  the  request  for 
money  seem  quite  a  trifle.  "  If  you  do  not  want  to  end  your 
days  miserably,  get  the  place  for  Peyrade  that  he  asked  you 
to  procure  for  him — and  it  is  a  thing  you  can  easily  do.  The 
chief  of  the  general  police  must  have  had  notice  of  the  matter 
yesterday.  All  that  is  needed  is  to  get  Gondreville  to  speak 
to  the  prefect  of  police.  Very  well,  just  say  to  Malin,  Comte 
de  Gondreville,  that  it  is  to  oblige  one  of  the  men  who  re- 
lieved him  of  Messrs,  de  Simeuse,  and  he  will  work  it " 

"  Here  den,  mensieur,"  said  the  baron,  taking  out  five 
thousand-franc  notes  and  handing  them  to  Corentin. 

"  The  waiting-maid  is  great  friends  with  a  tall  footman 
named  Paccard,  living  in  the  Rue  de  Provence,  over  a  car- 
riage-builder's ;  he  goes  out  as  heyduque  to  persons  who  give 
themselves  princely  airs.  You  can  get  at  Madame  van  Bog- 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  143 

seck's  woman  through  Paccard,  a  brawny  Piemontese,  who 
has  a  liking  for  vermouth." 

This  information,  gracefully  thrown  in  as  a  postscript,  was 
evidently  the  return  for  the  five  thousand  francs.  The  baron 
was  trying  to  guess  Corentin's  place  in  life,  for  he  quite  un- 
derstood that  the  man  was  rather  a  master  of  spies  than  a  spy 
himself;  but  Corentin  remained  to  him  as  mysterious  as  an 
inscription  is  to  an  archaeologist  when  three-quarters  of  the 
letters  are  missing. 

"Vat  is  dat  maid  called  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Eugenie,"  replied  Corentin,  who  bowed  and  withdrew. 

The  baron,  in  a  transport  of  joy,  left  his  business  for  the 
day,  shut  up  his  office,  and  went  up  to  his  rooms  in  the  happy 
frame  of  mind  of  a  young  man  of  twenty  looking  forward  to 
his  first  meeting  with  his  first  mistress. 

The  baron  took  all  the  thousand-franc  notes  out  of  his  pri- 
vate cash-box — a  sum  sufficient  to  make  a  whole  village  happy, 
fifty-five  thousand  francs — and  stuffed  them  into  the  pocket  of 
his  coat.  But  a  millionaire's  lavishness  can  only  be  compared 
with  his  eagerness  for  gain.  As  soon  as  a  whim  or  a  passion 
is  to  be  gratified,  money  is  dross  to  a  Crcesus ;  in  fact,  he 
finds  it  harder  to  have  whims  than  gold.  A  keen  pleasure  is 
the  rarest  thing  in  these  satiated  lives,  full  of  the  excitement 
that  comes  of  great  strokes  of  speculation,  in  which  these 
dried-up  hearts  have  burnt  themselves  out. 

For  instance,  one  of  the  richest  capitalists  in  Paris  one  day 
met  an  extremely  pretty  little  working-girl.  Her  mother  was 
with  her,  but  the  girl  had  taken  the  arm  of  a  young  fellow  in 
very  doubtful  finery,  with  a  very  smart  swagger.  The  million- 
aire fell  in  love  with  the  girl  at  first  sight ;  he  followed  her 
home,  he  went  in ;  he  heard  all  her  story,  a  record  of  alterna- 
tions of  dancing  at  Mabille  and  days  of  starvation,  of  play -going 
and  hard  work;  he  took  an  interest  in  it,  and  left  five  thousand- 
franc  notes  under  a  five-franc  piece — an  act  of  generosity 
Abused.  Next  day  a  famous  upholsterer,  Braschon,  came  to 


144  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

take  the  damsel's  orders,  furnished  rooms  that  she  had  chosen, 
and  laid  out  twenty  thousand  francs.  She  gave  herself  up  to 
the  wildest  hopes,  dressed  her  mother  to  match,  and  flattered 
herself  she  would  find  a  place  for  her  ex-lover  in  an  insurance 
office.  She  waited — a  day,  two  days — then  a  week,  two  weeks. 
She  thought  herself  bound  to  be  faithful ;  she  got  into  debt. 
The  capitalist,  called  away  to  Holland,  had  forgotten  the 
girl  j  he  never  went  once  to  the  paradise  where  he  had  placed 
her,  and  from  which  she  fell  as  low  as  it  is  possible  to  fall 
even  in  Paris. 

Nucingen  did  not  gamble,  Nucingen  did  not  patronize  the 
arts,  Nucingen  had  no  hobby;  thus  he  flung  himself  into  his 
passion  for  Esther  with  a  headlong  blindness,  on  which  Carlos 
Herrera  had  confidently  counted. 

After  his  breakfast,  the  baron  sent  for  Georges,  his  body- 
servant,  and  desired  him  to  go  to  the  Rue  Taitbout  and  ask 
Mademoiselle  Eugenie,  Madame  van  Bogseck's  maid,  to  come 
to  his  office  on  a  matter  of  importance. 

"You  shall  look  out  for  her,"  he  added,  "an'  make  her 
valk  up  to  my  room,  and  tell  her  I  shall  make  her  fortune." 

Georges  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  persuading  Europe- 
Eugenie  to  come. 

"  Madame  never  lets  me  go  out,"  said  she  ;  "  I  might  lose 
;ny  place,"  and  so  forth;  and  Georges  sang  her  praises  loudly 
to  the  baron,  who  gave  him  ten  louis. 

"If  madame  goes  out  without  her  this  evening,"  said 
Georges  to  his  master,  whose  eyes  glowed  like  carbuncles, 
"she  will  be  here  by  ten  o'clock." 

"Goot.  You  shall  come  to  dress  me  at  nine  o'clock — and 
do  my  hair.  I  shall  look  so  goot  as  possible.  I  belief  I 
shall  really  see  dat  mistress — or  money  is  not  money  any 
more." 

The  baron  spent  an  hour,  from  noon  till  one,  in  dyeing  his 
hair  and  whiskers.  At  nine  in  the  evening,  having  taken  a 
bath  before  dinner,  he  made  a  toilet  worthy  of  a  bridegroom 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  145 

and  scented  himself — a  perfect  Adonis.  Madame  de  Nucingen, 
informed  of  this  metamorphosis,  gave  herself  the  treat  of  in- 
specting her  husband. 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  she,  "what  a  ridiculous  figure! 
Do,  at  least,  put  on  a  black  satin  stock  instead  of  that  white 
neckcloth  which  makes  your  whiskers  look  so  black ;  beside, 
it  is  so  'Empire,'  quite  the  old  fogey.  You  look  like  some 
superannuated  parliamentary  counsel.  And  take  out  these 
diamond  buttons ;  they  are  worth  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
a-piece — that  slut  will  ask  you  for  them,  and  you  will  not  be 
able  to  refuse  her ;  and  if  a  baggage  is  to  have  them,  I  may 
as  well  wear  them  as  earrings." 

The  unhappy  banker,  struck  by  the  wisdom  of  his  wife's 
reflections,  obeyed  reluctantly. 

"  Ridikilous,  ridikilous  !  I  hafe  never  tolt  you  dat  you  shall 
be  ridikilous  when  you  dressed  yourself  so  smart  to  see  your 
little  Mensieur  de  Rastignac  !  " 

"  I  should  hope  that  you  never  saw  me  make  myself  ridicu- 
lous. Am  I  the  woman  to  make  such  blunders  in  the  first 
syllable  of  my  dress?  Come,  turn  about.  Button  your  coat 
up  to  the  neck,  all  but  the  two  top  buttons,  as  the  Due  de 
Maufrigneuse  does.  In  short,  try  to  look  young." 

' '  Monsieur, ' '  said  Georges,  "here  is  Mademoiselle  Eugenie. ' ' 

"Adie,  motame,"  said  the  banker,  and  he  escorted  his 
wife  as  far  as  her  own  rooms,  to  make  sure  that  she  should  not 
overhear  their  conference. 

On  his  return,  he  took  Europe  by  the  hand  and  led  her  into 
his  room  with  a  sort  of  ironical  respect. 

"  Veil,  my  chilt,  you  are  a  happy  creature,  for  you  are  de 
maid  of  dat  most  beautiful  voman  in  de  vorlt.  And  your 
fortune  shall  be  made  if  you  vill  talk  to  her  for  me  and  in 
mein  interests." 

"  I  would  not  do  such  a  thing  for  ten  thousand  francs  !  " 
exclaimed  Europe.     "I  would  have  you  to  know,  Monsieur 
le  Baron,  that  I  am  an  honest  girl." 
10 


146  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  expect  to  pay  dear  for  your  honesty.  In 
business  dat  is  vat  ve  call  curiosity." 

"And  that  is  not  everything,"  Europe  went  on.  "  If  you 
should  not  take  madame's  fancy — and  that  is  on  the  cards — 
she  would  be  angry,  and  I  am  done  for ! — and  my  place  is 
worth  a  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"De  capital  to  make  ein  tousant  franc  is  tventy  tousand 
franc;  and  if  I  shall  gif  you  dat,  you  shall  not  lose  noting." 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  if  that  is  the  tone  you  take  about  it,  my 
worthy  old  fellow,"  said  Europe,  "that  is  quite  another  story. 
Where  is  the  money?" 

"  Here,"  replied  the  baron,  holding  up  the  bank-notes,  one 
at  a  time. 

He  noted  the  flash  struck  by  each  in  turn  from  Europe's 
eyes,  betraying  the  greed  he  had  counted  on. 

"  That  pays  for  my  place,  but  how  about  my  principles,  my 
conscience  ?  "  said  Europe,  cocking  her  crafty  little  nose,  and 
giving  the  baron  a  serio-comic  leer. 

"Your  conscience  shall  not  be  pait  for  so  much  as  your 
place;  but  I  shall  say  fife  tousand  franc  more,"  said  he,  add- 
ing five  thousand-franc  notes. 

"  No,  no.  Twenty  thousand  for  my  conscience,  and  five 
thousand  for  my  place  if  I  lose  it " 

"Yust  vat  you  please,"  said  he,  adding  the  five  notes. 
"  But  to  earn  dem  you  shall  hite  me  in  your  lady's  room  by 
night  ven  she  shall  be  'lone." 

"If  you  swear  never  to  tell  who  let  you  in,  I  agree.  But  I 
warn  you  of  one  thing — madame  is  as  strong  as  a  Turk,  she  is 
madly  in  love  with  Monsieur  de  Rubempr£,  and  if  you  paid  a 
million  francs  in  bank-notes  she  would  never  be  unfaithful  to 
him.  It  is  very  silly,  but  that  is  her  way  when  she  is  in  love ; 
she  is  worse  than  an  honest  woman,  I  tell  you  !  When  she 
goes  out  for  a  drive  in  the  woods  at  Anight,  monsieur  very 
seldom  stays  at  home.  She  is  gone  out  this  evening,  so  I  can 
hide  you  in  my  room.  If  madame  comes  in  alone,  I  will 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  147 

fetch  you;  you  can  wait  in  the  drawing-room.  I  will  not 
lock  the  door  into  her  room,  and  then — well,  the  rest  is  your 
concern — so  be  ready." 

"  I  shall  pay  you  the  twenty-fife  tousand  francs  in  dat  draw- 
ing-room. You  gife — I  gife  !  " 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Europe,  "  you  are  so  confiding  as  all  that  ? 
On  my  word  !  " 

"  Oh,  you  will  hafe  your  chance  to  fleece  me  yet.  We  shall 
be  friends." 

"Well,  then,  be  in  the  Rue  Taitbout  at  midnight;  but 
bring  thirty  thousand  francs  about  you.  A  waiting- woman's 
honesty,  like  a  hackney-coach,  is  much  dearer  after  mid- 
night." 

"  It  shall  be  more  prudent  if  I  gife  you  a  check  on  my 
bank " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Europe.     "  Bills,  or  the  bargain  is  off." 

So  at  one  in  the  morning  the  Baron  de  Nucingen,  hidden 
in  the  garret  where  Europe  slept,  was  suffering  all  the  anxieties 
of  a  man  who  hopes  to  triumph.  His  blood  seemed  to  him 
to  be  tingling  in  his  toe-nails,  and  his  head  ready  to  burst 
like  an  overheated  steam-engine. 

"  I  had  more  dan  one  hundert  tousand  crowns'  vort  of  en- 
joyment— in  my  mind,"  said  he  to  du  Tillet  when  telling  him 
the  story. 

He  listened  to  every  little  noise  in  the  street,  and  at  two  in 
the  morning  he  heard  his  mistress'  carriage  far  away  on  the 
boulevard.  His  heart  beat  vehemently  under  his  silk  vest  as 
the  gate  turned  on  its  hinges.  He  was  about  to  behold  the 
heavenly,  the  glowing  face  of  his  Esther !  the  clatter  of  the 
carriage-step  and  the  slam  of  the  door  struck  upon  his  heart. 
He  was  more  agitated  in  expectation  of  this  supreme  moment 
than  he  would  have  been  if  his  immense  fortune  had  been  put 
at  stake. 

"Ah,  ha!"  cried  he,  "dis  is  vat  I  call  to  lif — it  is  too 
much  to  lif;  I  shall  be  incapable  of  everything." 


148  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Madame  is  alone  ;  come  down,"  said  Europe,  looking  in. 
"Above  all,  make  no  noise,  great  elephant." 

"Great  elephant?"  he  repeated,  laughing,  and  walking  as 
if  he  trod  on  red-hot  iron. 

Europe  led  the  way,  carrying  a  candle. 

"  Here — count  dem  !  "  said  the  baron  when  he  reached  the 
drawing-room,  holding  out  the  notes  to  Europe. 

Europe  took  the  thirty  notes  very  gravely  and  left  the  room, 
locking  the  banker  in. 

Nucingen  went  straight  to  the  bedroom,  where  he  found  the 
handsome  Englishwoman. 

"  Is  that  you,  Lucien  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Nein,  my  peauty,"  said  Nucingen,  but  he  said  no  more. 

He  stood  speechless  on  seeing  a  woman  the  very  antipodes 
to  Esther;  fair  hair  where  he  had  seen  black,  slenderness 
where  he  had  admired  a  powerful  frame !  A  soft  English 
evening  where  he  had  looked  for  the  bright  sun  of  Arabia. 

"  Hey-dey  !  where  have  you  come  from ? — who  are  you? — 
what  do  you  want?"  cried  the  Englishwoman,  pulling  the 
bell,  which  made  no  sound. 

"The  bells  dey  are  in  cotton-vool,  but  hafe  not  any  fear — 
I  shall  go  'vay,"  said  he.  "  Dat  is  dirty  tousant  franc  I  hafe 
trown  in  de  vater.  Are  you  dat  mistress  of  Mensieur  Lucien 
de  Rubempre?" 

"  Rather,  my  son,"  said  the  lady,  who  spoke  French  well. 
"But  vat  vas  you!"  she  went  on,  mimicking  Nucingen's 
accent. 

"  Ein  man  vat  is  ver'  much  took  in,"  replied  he  lamentably. 

"Is  a  man  took  in  ven  he  find  a  pretty  voman  ?  "  asked  she, 
with  a  laugh. 

"  Permit  me  to  sent  you  to-morrow  some  chewels  as  a 
soufenir  of  de  Baron  von  Nucingen." 

"  Don't  know  him !  "  said  she,  laughing  like  a  crazy  crea- 
ture. "But  the  chewels  will  be  welcome,  my  fat  burglar 
friend." 


EUROPE    LED    THE    WAY,   CARRYING    A    CANDLE. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  149 

"You  shall  know  him.  Goot-night,  motame.  You  are  a 
tidbit  for  ein  king ;  but  I  am  only  a  poor  banker  more  dan 
sixty  year  olt,  and  you  hafe  make  me  feel  vat  power  the  voman 
I  lofe  hafe  ofer  me  since  your  difine  beauty  hafe  not  make  me 
forget  her." 

"  Veil,  dat  is  ver'  pretty  vat  you  say,"  replied  the  English- 
woman. 

"  It  is  not  so  pretty  vat  she  is  dat  I  say  it  to." 

"  You  spoke  of  thirty  thousand  francs — to  whom  did  you 
give  them?" 

"To  dat  hussy,  your  maid " 

The  Englishwoman  called  Europe,  who  was  not  far  off. 

"  Oh  !  "  shrieked  Europe,  "a  man  in  madame's  room,  and 
he  is  not  monsieur — how  shocking  !  " 

"  Did  he  give  you  thirty  thousand  francs  to  let  him  in?  " 

"No,  madame,  for  we  are  not  worth  it,  the  pair  of  us." 

And  Europe  set  to  screaming  "thief"  so  determinedly 
that  the  banker  made  for  the  door  in  a  fright,  and  Europe, 
tripping  him  up,  rolled  him  down  the  stairs. 

"Old  wretch!"  cried  she,  "you  would  tell  tales  to  my 
mistress!  Thief!  thief!  stop  thief!" 

The  enamored  baron,  in  despair,  succeeded  in  getting  un- 
hurt to  his  carriage,  which  he  had  left  on  the  boulevard ;  but 
he  was  now  at  his  wits'  end  as  to  whom  he  should  now  apply 
for  information  of  his  unknown  fair. 

"And  pray,  madame,  did  you  think  to  get  my  earnings 
out  of  me?"  said  Europe,  coming  back  like  a  fury  to  the 
lady's  room. 

"I  know  nothing  of  French  customs,"  said  the  English- 
woman. 

"  But  one  word  from  me  to-morrow  to  monsieur,  and  you, 
madame,  would  find  yourself  in  the  streets,"  retorted  Europe 
insolently. 

"  Dat  dam'  maid  !  "  said  the  baron  to  Georges,  who  natur- 
ally asked  his  master  if  all  had  gone  well,  "  hafe  do  me  out  of 


150  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

dirty  tousant  franc — but  it  vas  my  own  fault,  my  own  great 
fault " 

"  And  so  monsieur's  dress  was  all  wasted.  The  deuce  is  in 
it,  I  should  advise  you.  Monsieur  le  Baron,  not  to  have  taken 
your  tonic  for  nothing." 

"Georches,  I  shall  be  dying  of  despair.  I  hafe  cold — I 
hafe  ice  on  mcin  heart — no  more  of  Esther,  mein  good  friend." 

Georges  was  always  the  baron's  friend  when  matters  were 
serious 

Two  days  after  this  scene,  which  Europe  related  far  more 
amusingly  than  it  can  be  written,  because  she  told  it  with 
much  mimicry,  Carlos  and  Lucien  were  breakfasting  tete-a-tttc. 

<c  My  dear  boy,  neither  the  police  nor  anybody  else  must 
be  allowed  to  poke  a  nose  into  our  concerns,"  said  Herrera 
in  a  low  voice,  as  he  lighted  his  cigar  from  Lucien's.  "It 
would  not  agree  with  us.  I  have  hit  on  a  plan,  daring  but 
effectual,  to  keep  our  baron  and  his  agents  quiet.  You  must 
go  to  see  Madame  de  Serizy,  and  make  yourself  very  agree- 
able to  her.  Tell  her,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  that  to 
oblige  Rastignac,  who  has  long  been  sick  of  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  you  have  consented  to  play  fence  for  him  to  con- 
ceal a  mistress.  Monsieur  de  Nucingen,  desperately  in  love 
with  the  woman  Rastignac  keeps  hidden — that  will  make  her 
laugh — has  taken  it  into  his  head  to  set  the  police  to  keep  an 
eye  on  you — on  you,  who  are  innocent  of  all  his  tricks,  and 
whose  interest  with  the  Grandlieus  may  be  seriously  com- 
promised. Then  you  must  beg  the  countess  to  secure  her 
husband's  support,  for  he  is  a  minister  of  State,  to  carry  you 
to  the  prefecture  of  police. 

"  When  you  have  got  there,  face  to  face  with  the  prefect, 
make  your  complaint,  but  as  a  man  of  political  consequence, 
who  will  sooner  or  later  be  one  of  the  motor  powers  of  the 
huge  machine  of  government.  You  will  speak  of  the  police 
as  a  statesman  should,  admiring  everything,  the  prefect  in- 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  151 

eluded.  The  very  best  machines  make  oil-stains  or  splutter. 
Do  not  be  angry  till  the  right  moment.  You  have  no  sort  of 
grudge  against  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  but  persuade  him  to  keep 
a  sharp  lookout  on  his  people,  and  pity  him  for  having  to 
blow  them  up.  The  quieter  and  more  gentlemanly  you  are, 
the  more  terrible  will  the  prefect  be  to  his  men.  Then  we 
shall  be  left  in  peace,  and  we  may  send  for  Esther  back,  for 
she  must  be  lowing  like  the  does  in  the  forest." 

The  prefect  at  that  time  was  a  retired  magistrate.  Retired 
magistrates  make  far  too  young  prefects.  Partisans  of  the 
Right,  riding  the  high-horse  on  points  of  law,  they  are  not 
light-handed  in  arbitrary  action  such  as  critical  circumstances 
often  require ;  cases  in  which  the  prefect  should  be  as  prompt 
as  a  fireman  called  to  a  conflagration.  So,  face  to  face  with 
the  vice-president  of  the  Council  of  State,  the  prefect  confessed 
to  more  faults  than  the  police  really  has,  deplored  its  abuses, 
and  presently  was  able  to  recollect  the  visit  paid  him  by  the 
Baron  de  Nucingen  and  his  inquiries  as  toPeyrade.  The  prefect, 
while  promising  to  check  the  rash  zeal  of  his  agents,  thanked 
Lucien  for  having  come  straight  to  him,  promised  secrecy, 
and  affected  to  understand  the  intrigue. 

A  few  fine  speeches  about  personal  liberty  and  the  sacred- 
ness  of  home  life  were  bandied  between  the  official  and  the 
minister;  Monsieur  de  Serizy  observing  in  conclusion  that 
though  the  high  interests  of  the  kingdom  sometimes  neces- 
sitated illegal  action  in  secret,  crime  began  when  these  State 
measures  were  applied  to  private  cases. 

Next  day,  just  as  Peyrade  was  going  to  his  beloved  Cafe 
David,  where  he  enjoyed  watching  the  bourgeois  eat,  as  an 
artist  watches  flowers  open,  a  gendarme  in  private  clothes  spoke 
to  him  in  the  street. 

"  I  was  going  to  fetch  you,"  said  he  in  his  ear.  "  I  have 
orders  to  take  you  to  the  prefecture." 

Peyrade  called  a  hackney-coach,  and  got  in  without  saying 
a  single  word,  followed  by  the  gendarme. 


152  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

The  prefect  treated  Peyrade  as  though  he  were  the  lowest 
warder  on  the  hulks,  walking  to  and  fro  in  a  side-path  of  the 
garden  of  the  prefecture,  which  at  that  time  was  on  the  Quai 
des  Orfevres. 

"It  is  not  without  good  reason,  monsieur,  that  since  1830 
you  have  been  kept  out  of  office.  Do  not  you  know  to  what 
risk  you  expose  us,  not  to  mention  yourself?" 

The  lecture  ended  in  a  thunderstroke.  The  prefect  sternly 
informed  poor  Peyrade  that  not  only  would  his  yearly  allow- 
ance be  cut  off,  but  that  he  himself  would  be  narrowly 
watched.  The  old  man  took  the  shock  with  an  air  of  perfect 
calm.  Nothing  can  be  more  rigidly  expressionless  than  a 
man  struck  by  lightning.  Peyrade  had  lost  all  his  stake  in 
the  game.  He  had  counted  on  getting  an  appointment,  and 
he  found  himself  bereft  of  everything  but  the  alms  bestowed 
by  his  friend  Corentin. 

"  I  have  been  prefect  of  police  myself;  I  think  you  perfectly 
right,"  said  the  old  man  quietly  to  the  functionary  who  stood 
before  him  in  his  judicial  majesty,  and  who  answered  with  a 
significant  shrug. 

"  But  allow  me,  without  any  attempt  to  justify  myself,  to 
point  out  that  you  do  not  know  me  at  all,"  Peyrade  went  on, 
with  a  keen  glance  at  the  officer.  "Your  language  is  either 
too  severe  to  a  man  who  has  been  at  the  head  of  the  police  in 
Holland,  or  not  severe  enough  for  a  mere  spy.  But,  Monsieur 
le  Prefet,"  Peyrade  added  after  a  pause,  while  the  other  kept 
silence,  "bear  in  mind  what  I  now  have  the  honor  of  telling 
you :  I  have  no  intention  of  interfering  with  your  police  nor 
of  attempting  to  justify  myself,  but  you  will  presently  discover 
that  there  is  some  one  in  this  business  who  is  being  deceived ; 
at  this  moment  it  is  your  humble  servant ;  by-and-by  you  will 
say,  'It  was  I."' 

And  he  bowed  to  the  chief,  who  sat  passive  to  conceal  his 
amazement. 

Peyrade  returned  home,  his  legs  and  arms  feeling  broken, 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  153 

and  full  of  cold  fury  with  the  baron.  Nobody  but  that  burly 
banker  could  have  betrayed  a  secret  contained  in  the  minds 
of  Contenson,  Peyrade,  and  Corentin.  The  old  man  accused 
the  banker  of  wishing  to  avoid  paying  now  that  he  had  gained 
his  end.  A  single  interview  had  been  enough  to  enable  him 
to  read  the  astuteness  of  this  most  astute  of  bankers. 

" He  tries  to  compound  with  every  one,  even  with  us;  but 
I  will  be  revenged,"  thought  the  old  fellow.  "  I  have  never 
asked  a  favor  of  Corentin ;  I  will  ask  him  now  to  help  me  to 
be  revenged  on  that  imbecile  money-box.  Curse  the  baron  ! 
Well,  you  will  know  the  stuff  I  am  made  of  one  fine  morning 
when  you  find  your  daughter  disgraced  !  But  does  he  love 
his  daughter,  I  wonder?  " 

By  the  evening  of  the  day  when  this  catastrophe  had  upset 
the  old  man's  hopes  he  had  aged  by  ten  years.  As  he  talked 
to  his  friend  Corentin,  he  mingled  his  lamentations  with  tears 
wrung  from  him  by  the  thought  of  the  melancholy  prospects 
he  must  bequeath  to  his  daughter,  his  idol,  his  treasure,  his 
peace-offering  to  God. 

"We  will  follow  the  matter  up,"  said  Corentin.  "First 
of  all,  we  must  be  sure  that  it  was  the  baron  who  peached. 
Were  we  wise  in  enlisting  Gondreville's  support?  That  old 
rascal  owes  us  too  much  not  to  be  anxious  to  swamp  us ; 
indeed,  I  am  keeping  an  eye  on  his  son-in-law  Keller,  a 
simpleton  in  politics,  and  quite  capable  of  meddling  in  some 
conspiracy  to  overthrow  the  elder  Branch  to  the  advantage  of 
the  younger.  I  shall  know  to-morrow  what  is  going  on  at 
Nucingen's,  whether  he  has  seen  his  beloved,  and  to  whom 
we  owe  this  sharp  pull  up.  Do  not  be  out  of  heart.  In  the 
first  place,  the  prefect  will  not  hold  his  appointment  much 
longer;  the  times  are  big  with  revolution,  and  revolutions 
make  good  fishing  for  us." 

A  peculiar  whistle  was  just  then  heard  in  the  street. 

"  That  is  Contenson,"  said  Peyrade,  who  put  a  light  in  the 
window,  "and  he  has  something  to  say  that  concerns  me." 


154  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

A  minute  later  the  faithful  Contenson  appeared  in  the 
presence  of  the  two  gnomes  of  the  police,  whom  he  revered 
as  though  they  were  two  genii. 

"What  is  up?"  asked  Corentin. 

"A  new  thing!  I  was  coming  out  of  113,  where  I  lost 
everything,  when  whom  do  I  spy  under  the  gallery  ?  Georges  ! 
The  man  has  been  dismissed  by  the  baron,  who  suspects  him 
of  treachery." 

"  That  is  the  effect  of  a  smile  I  gave  him,"  said  Peyrade. 

"Bah!  when  I  think  of  all  the  mischief  I  have  known 
caused  by  smiles !  "  said  Corentin. 

"  To  say  nothing  of  that  caused  by  a  whip-lash,"  said  Pey- 
rade, referring  to  the  Simeuse  case.  [In  "A  Historical 
Mystery."]  "  But,  come,  Contenson,  what  is  going  on?" 

"  This  is  what  is  going  on,"  said  Contenson.  "I  made 
Georges  blab  by  getting  him  to  treat  me  to  an  endless  series 
of  liqueurs  of  every  color — I  left  him  tipsy ;  I  must  be  as  full 
as  a  still  myself!  Our  baron  has  been  to  the  Rue  Taitbout, 
crammed  with  Pastilles  du  Serail.  There  he  found  the  fair 
one  you  know  of;  but — a  good  joke  !  The  English  beauty  is 
not  his  fair  unknown !  And  he  has  spent  thirty  thousand 
francs  to  bribe  the  lady's-maid,  a  piece  of  folly ! 

"That  creature  thinks  itself  a  great  man  because  it  does 
mean  things  with  great  capital.  Reverse  the  proposition, 
and  you  have  the  problem  of  which  a  man  of  genius  is  the 
solution.  The  baron  came  home  in  a  pitiable  condition. 
Next  day  Georges,  to  get  his  finger  in  the  pie,  said  to  his 
master — 

"  '  Why,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  do  you  employ  such  black- 
guards ?  If  you  would  only  trust  to  me,  I  would  find  the  un- 
known lady,  for  your  description  of  her  is  enough.  I  would 
turn  Paris  upside  down.'  'Go  ahead,'  says  the  baron;  'I 
shall  reward  you  handsomely  !  '  Georges  told  me  the  whole 
story  with  the  most  absurd  details.  But — man  is  born  to  be 
rained  upon ! 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  155 

"  Next  day  the  baron  received  an  anonymous  letter  some- 
thing to  this  effect :  '  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  is  dying  of  love 
for  an  unknown  lady ;  he  has  already  spent  a  great  deal  ut- 
terly in  vain  ;  if  he  will  repair  at  midnight  to  the  end  of  the 
Neuilly  Bridge,  and  get  into  the  carriage  behind  which  the 
footman  he  saw  at  Vincennes  will  be  standing,  allowing  him- 
self to  be  blindfolded,  he  will  see  the  woman  he  loves.  As 
his  wealth  may  lead  him  to  suspect  the  intentions  of  persons 
who  proceed  in  such  a  fashion,  he  may  bring,  as  an  escort, 
his  faithful  Georges.  And  there  will  be  nobody  in  the  car- 
riage.' Off  the  baron  goes,  taking  Georges  with  him,  but 
telling  him  nothing.  They  both  submit  to  have  their  eyes 
bound  and  their  heads  wrapped  in  veils;  the  baron  recog- 
nizes the  manservant. 

"  Two  hours  later,  the  carriage,  going  at  the  pace  of  Louis 
XVIII. — God  rest  his  soul !  He  knew  what  was  meant  by 
the  police,  he  did  ! — pulled  up  in  the  middle  of  a  wood.  The 
baron  had  the  handkerchief  off,  and  saw,  in  a  carriage  stand- 
ing still,  his  adored  fair — when,  whiff !  she  vanished.  And 
the  carriage,  at  the  same  lively  pace,  brought  him  back  to  the 
Neuilly  Bridge,  where  he  found  his  own. 

"  Some  one  had  slipped  into  Georges'  hand  a  note  to  this 
effect :  '  How  many  bank-notes  will  the  baron  part  with  to  be 
put  into  communication  with  his  unknown  fair?'  Georges 
handed  this  to  his  master ;  and  the  baron,  never  doubting  that 
Georges  was  in  collusion  with  me  or  with  you,  Monsieur 
Peyrade,  to  drive  a  hard  bargain,  turned  him  out  of  the 
house.  What  a  fool  that  banker  is  !  He  ought  not  to  have 
sent  away  Georges  before  he  had  known  the  unknown  !  " 

"  Then  Georges  saw  the  woman  ?  "  said  Corentin. 

"Yes,"  replied  Contenson. 

"Well,"  cried  Peyrade,  "and  what  is  she  like?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Contenson,  "  he  said  but  one  word — 'A  sun  of 
loveliness.'  " 

"We  are  being  tricked  by  some  rascals  who  beat  us  at  the 


156  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

game,"  said  Peyrade.     "Those  villains  mean  to  sell  their 
woman  very  dear  to  the  baron." 

"Ja,  mein  herr,"  said  Contenson.  "And  so,  when  I  heard 
you  got  slapped  in  the  face  at  the  prefecture,  I  made  Georges 
blab." 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  know  who  it  is  that  has  stolen 
a  march  on  me,"  said  Peyrade.  "We  would  measure  our 
spurs ! ' ' 

"We  must  play  eavesdropper,"  said  Contenson. 

"  He  is  right,"  said  Peyrade.  "  We  must  get  into  chinks 
to  listen,  and  wait " 

"We  will  study  that  side  of  the  subject,"  cried  Corentin. 
"For  the  present,  I  am  out  of  work.  You,  Peyrade,  be  a 
very  good  boy.  We  must  always  obey  Monsieur  le  Prefet !  " 

"  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  needs  bleeding,"  said  Contenson ; 
"he  has  too  many  bank-bills  in  his  veins." 

"But  it  was  Lydie's  marriage-portion  I  looked  for  there  !  " 
said  Peyrade,  in  a  whisper  to  Corentin. 

"Now,  come  along,  Contenson,  let  us  be  off,  and  leave  our 
daddy  to  by-by,  by-by !  " 

"Monsieur,"  said  Contenson  to  Corentin  on  the  door-step, 
"  what  a  queer  piece  of  brokerage  our  good  friend  was  plan- 
ning !  Heh  !  What,  marry  a  daughter  with  the  price  of 

Ah,  ha !     It  would  make  a  pretty  little  play,  and  very  moral 
too,  entitled  'A  Girl's  Dower.'  " 

"  You  are  highly  organized  animals,  indeed,"  replied  Coren- 
tin. "What  ears  you  have!  Certainly  Social  Nature  arms 
all  her  species  with  the. qualities  needed  for  the  duties  she  ex- 
pects of  them  !  Society  is  second  nature." 

"That  is  a  highly  philosophical  view  to  take,"  cried  Con- 
tenson. "A  professor  would  work  it  up  into  a  system." 

"  Let  us  find  out  all  we  can,"  replied  Corentin  with  a  smile, 
as  he  made  his  way  down  the  street  with  the  s'py,  "as  to  what 
goes  on  at  Monsieur  de  Nucingen's  with  regard  to  this  girl — 
the  main  facts;  never  mind  the  details " 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  157 

"Just  watch  to  see  if  his  chimneys  are  smoking!"  said 
Contenson. 

"  Such  a  man  as  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  cannot  be  happy 
incognito,"  replied  Corentin.  "And,  beside,  we  for  whom 
men  are  but  cards  ought  never  to  be  tricked  by  them,"  he 
quietly  added. 

"  By  Gad !  it  would  be  the  condemned  jail-bird  amusing 
himself  by  cutting  the  executioner's  throat." 

"You  always  have  something  droll  to  say,"  replied  Con- 
tenson, with  a  dim  smile,  that  faintly  wrinkled  his  set  white 
face. 

This  business  was  exceedingly  important  in  itself,  apart 
from  its  consequences.  If  it  were  not  the  baron  who  had 
betrayed  Peyrade,  who  could  have  had  any  interest  in  seeing 
the  prefect  of  police?  From  Corentin's  point  of  view  it 
seemed  suspicious.  Were  there  any  traitors  among  his  men  ! 
And  as  he  went  to  bed,  he  wondered  what  Peyrade,  too,  was 
considering. 

"  Who  can  have  gone  to  complain  to  the  chief?  To  whom 
does  the  woman  belong?" 

And  thus,  without  knowing  each  other,  Jacques  Collin, 
Peyrade,  and  Corentin  were  converging  to  a  common  point ; 
while  the  unhappy  Esther,  Nucingen,  and  Lucien  were  inevi- 
tably entangled  in  the  struggle  which  had  already  begun,  and 
of  which  the  point  of  pride,  peculiar  to  police-agents,  was 
making  a  war  to  the  death. 

Thanks  to  Europe's  cleverness,  the  more  pressing  half  of 
the  sixty  thousand  francs  of  debt  owed  by  Esther  and  Lucien 
was  paid  off.  The  creditors  did  not  even  lose  confidence. 
Lucien  and  his  evil  genius  could  breathe  for  a  moment.  Like 
two  wild  animals,  drinking  for  an  instant  of  the  waters  of  some 
pool,  they  could  start  again  along  the  edge  of  the  precipice 
where  the  strong  man  was  guiding  the  weak  man  to  the  gibbet 
or  to  fortune. 

"We  are  staking  all  now,"  said  Carlos  to  his  puppet,  "to 


158  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

win  or  lose  all.     But,  happily,  the  cards  are  beveled,  and  the 
punters  young." 

For  some  little  time  Lucien,  by  his  terrible  Mentor's  orders, 
had  been  very  attentive  to  Madame  de  Serizy.  It  was,  in  fact, 
indispensable  that  Lucien  should  not  be  suspected  of  having  a 
kept  woman  for  his  mistress.  And  in  the  pleasure  of  being 
loved,  and  the  excitement  of  fashionable  life,  he  found  a 
spurious  power  of  forgetting.  He  obeyed  Mademoiselle  Clo- 
tilde  de  Grandlieu  by  never  seeing  her  excepting  in  the  Bois 
or  the  Champs-Elysees. 

On  the  day  after  Esther  was  shut  up  in  the  park-keeper's 
house,  the  being  who  was  to  her  so  enigmatic  and  terrible, 
who  weighed  upon  her  soul,  came  to  desire  her  to  sign  three 
pieces  of  stamped  paper,  made  terrible  by  these  fateful  words : 
on  the  first,  accepted  payable  for  sixty  thousand  francs ;  on 
the  second,  accepted  payable  for  a  hundred  and  twenty  thou- 
sand francs;  on  the  third,  accepted  payable  for  a  hundred  and 
twenty  thousand  francs — three  hundred  thousand  francs  in  all. 
By  writing  Bon  pour,  good  for,  you  simply  promise  to  pay. 
The  word  Accepted,  however,  constitutes  a  bill  of  exchange, 
and  makes  you  liable  to  imprisonment.  The  word  entails,  on 
the  person  who  is  so  imprudent  as  to  sign,  the  risk  of  five 
years'  imprisonment — a  punishment  which  the  police  magis- 
trate hardly  ever  inflicts,  and  which  is  reserved  at  the  assizes 
for  confirmed  rogues.  The  law  of  imprisonment  for  debt  is  a 
relic  of  the  days  of  barbarism,  which  adds  to  its  stupidity  the 
rare  merit  of  being  useless,  inasmuch  as  it  never  catches 
swindlers. 

"The  point,"  said  the  Spaniard  to  Esther,  "is  to  get 
Lucien  out  of  his  difficulties.  We  have  debts  to  the  tune  of 
sixty  thousand  francs,  and  with  these  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  we  may  perhaps  pull  through." 

Having  antedated  the  bills  by  six  months,  Carlos  had  had 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  159 

them  drawn  on  Esther  by  a  man  whom  the  county  court  had 
"misunderstood,"  and  whose  adventures,  in  spite  of  the 
excitement  they  had  caused,  were  soon  forgotten,  hidden, 
lost,  in  the  uproar  of  the  great  symphony  of  July,  1830. 

This  young  fellow,  a  most  audacious  adventurer,  the  son  of 
a  lawyer's  clerk  of  Boulogne,  near  Paris,  was  named  Georges 
Marie  Destourny.  His  father,  obliged  by  adverse  circum- 
stances to  sell  his  connection,  died  in  1824,  leaving  his  son 
without  the  means  of  living,  after  giving  him  a  brilliant  edu- 
cation, the  folly  of  the  lower  middle-class.  At  twenty-three 
the  clever  young  law-student  had  denied  his  paternity  by 
printing  on  his  cards  "Georges  d'Estourny." 

This  card  gave  him  an  odor  of  aristocracy ;  and  now,  as  a 
man  of  fashion,  he  was  so  impudent  as  to  set  up  a  tilbury  and 
a  groom  and  haunt  the  clubs.  One  line  will  account  for  this: 
he  gambled  on  the  Bourse  with  money  intrusted  to  him  by  the 
kept  women  of  his  acquaintance.  Finally  he  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  police,  and  was  charged  with  playing  at  cards 
with  too  much  luck. 

He  had  accomplices,  youths  whom  he  had  corrupted,  his 
compulsory  satellites,  accessory  to  his  fashion  and  his  credit. 
Compelled  to  fly,  he  forgot  to  pay  his  differences  on  the 
Bourse.  All  Paris — the  Paris  of  the  Stock  Exchange  and 
clubs — was  still  shaken  by  this  double  stroke  of  swindling. 

In  the  days  of  his  splendor  Georges  d'Estourny,  a  handsome 
youth,  and,  above  all,  a  jolly  fellow,  as  generous  as  a  brigand 
chief,  had  for  a  few  months  "  protected  "  La  Torpille.  The 
false  abbe  based  his  calculations  .on  Esther's  former  intimacy 
with  this  famous  scoundrel,  an  incident  peculiar  to  women  of 
her  class. 

Georges  d'Estourny,  whose  ambition  grew  bolder  with  suc- 
cess, had  taken  under  his  patronage  a  man  who  had  come  from 
the  depths  of  the  country  to  carry  on  a  business  in  Paris,  and 
whom  the  Liberal  party  were  anxious  to  indemnify  for  certain 
sentences  endured  with  much  courage  in  the  struggle  of  the 


160  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

press  with  Charles  X.'s  government,  the  persecution  being 
relaxed,  however,  during  the  Martignac  administration.  The 
Sieur  Cerizet  had  then  been  pardoned,  and  he  was  thenceforth 
known  as  the  Brave  Cerizet. 

Cerizet  then,  being  patronized  for  form's  sake  by  the  big- 
wigs of  the  Left,  founded  a  house  which  combined  the  busi- 
ness of  a  general  agency  with  that  of  a  bank  and  a  commission 
agency.  It  was  one  of  those  concerns  which,  in  business, 
remind  one  of  the  servants  who  advertise  in  the  papers  as 
being  able  and  willing  to  do  everything.  Cerizet  was  very 
glad  to  ally  himself  with  Georges  d'Estourny,  who  gave  him 
hints. 

Esther,  in  virtue  of  the  anecdote  about  Ninon,  might  be 
regarded  as  the  faithful  guardian  of  part  of  Georges 
d'Estourny's  fortune.  An  endorsement  in  the  name  of 
Georges  d'Estourny  made  Carlos  Herrera  master  of  the  money 
he  had  created.  This  forgery  was  perfectly  safe  so  long  as 
Mademoiselle  Esther,  or  some  one  for  her,  could  or  was 
bound  to  pay. 

After  making  inquiries  as  to  the  house  of  Cerizet,  Carlos 
perceived  that  he  had  to  do  with  one  of  those  humble  men 
who  are  bent  on  making  a  fortune,  but — lawfully.  Cerizet, 
with  whom  d'Estourny  had  really  deposited  his  moneys,  had 
in  hand  a  considerable  sum  with  which  he  was  speculating 
for  a  rise  on  the  Bourse,  a  state  of  affairs  which  allowed  him 
to  style  himself  a  banker.  Such  things  are  done  in  Paris ;  a 
man  may  be  despised — but  money,  never. 

Carlos  went  off  to  Cerizet  intending  to  work  him  after  his 
manner;  for,  as  it  happened,  he  was  master  of  all  this 
worthy's  secrets — a  meet  partner  for  d'Estourny. 

Cerizet  the  Brave  lived  in  an  entresol  in  the  Rue  du  Gros- 
Chenet,  and  Carlos,  who  had  himself  mysteriously  announced 
as  coming  from  Georges  d'Estourny,  found  the  self-styled 
banker  quite  pale  at  the  name.  The  abbe  saw  in  this  humble 
private  room  a  little  man  with  thin,  light  hair;  and  recog- 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  161 

nized  him  at  once,  from  Lucien's  description,  as  the  Judas 
who  had  ruined  David  Sechard. 

"Can  we  talk  here  without  risk  of  being  overheard?" 
said  the  Spaniard,  now  metamorphosed  into  a  red-haired 
Englishman  with  blue  spectacles,  as  clean  and  prim  as  a 
puritan  going  to  meeting. 

"  Why,  monsieur?"  said  Cerizet.     "Who  are  you?" 

"  Mr.  William  Barker,  a  creditor  of  Monsieur  d'Estourny's ; 
and  I  can  prove  to  you  the  necessity  for  keeping  your  doors 
closed  if  you  wish  it.  We  know,  monsieur,  all  about  your 
connection  with  the  Petit-Clauds,  the  Cointets,  and  the 
Sechards  of  Angouleme "* 

On  hearing  these  words,  Cerizet  rushed  to  the  door  and 
shut  it,  flew  to  another  leading  into  a  bedroom  and  bolted  it ; 
then  he  said  to  the  stranger — 

"  Speak  lower,  monsieur,"  and  he  studied  the  sham  English- 
man as  he  asked  him,  "What  do  you  want  with  me?" 

"  Dear  me,"  said  William  Barker,  "every  one  for  himself 
in  this  world.  You  had  the  money  of  that  rascal  d'Estourny. 
Be  quite  easy,  I  have  not  come  to  ask  for  it ;  but  that  scoundrel, 
who  deserves  hanging,  between  you  and  me,  gave  me  these 
bills,  saying  that  there  might  be  some  chance  of  recovering 
the  money ;  and  as  I  do  not  choose  to  prosecute  in  my  own 
name,  he  told  me  you  would  not  refuse  to  back  them." 

Cerizet  looked  at  the  bills. 

"  But  he  is  no  longer  at  Frankfort,"  said  he. 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Barker,  "  but  he  may  still  have  been 
there  at  the  date  of  those  bills " 

"  I  will  not  take  the  responsibility,"  said  Cerizet. 

"  I  do  not  ask  such  a  sacrifice  of  you,"  replied  Barker; 
"  you  may  be  instructed  to  receive  them.  Endorse  them,  and 
I  will  undertake  to  recover  the  money." 

"I  am  surprised  that  d'Estourny  shouH  show  so  little 
confidence  in  me,"  said  Cerizet. 

*  See  "  Lost  Illusions." 
11 


162 

"  In  his  position,"  replied  Barker,  "  you  can  hardly  blame 
him  for  having  put  his  eggs  in  different  baskets." 

"Can  you  believe "  the  little  broker  began,  as  he 

handed  back  to  the  Englishman  the  bills  of  exchange  formally 
accepted. 

"  I  believe  that  you  will  take  good  care  of  his  money,"  said 
Barker.  "  I  am  sure  of  it  !  It  is  already  on  the  green  table 
of  the  Bourse." 

"  My  fortune  depends " 

"  On  your  appearing  to  lose  it,"  said  Barker. 

"Sir!"  cried  Cerizet. 

"Look  here,  my  dear  Monsieur  Cerizet,"  said  Barker, 
coolly  interrupting  him,  "  you  will  do  me  a  service  by  facili- 
tating this  payment.  Be  so  good  as  to  write  me  a  letter  in 
which  you  tell  me  that  you  are  sending  me  these  bills  receipted 
on  d'Estourny's  account,  and  that  the  collecting  officer  is  to 
regard  the  holder  of  the  letter  as  the  possessor  of  the  three 
bills." 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  name  ?  " 

"  No  names,"  replied  the  English  capitalist.  "  Put  <  The 
bearer  of  this  letter  and  these  bills.'  You  will  be  handsomely 
repaid  for  obliging  me." 

"How?"  said  Cerizet. 

"  In  one  word — You  mean  to  stay  in  France,  do  not  you?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Well,  Georges  d'Estourny  will  never  reenter  the  country." 

"Pray  why?" 

"There  are  five  persons  at  least  to  my  knowledge  who 
would  murder  him,  and  he  knows  it." 

"  Then  no  wonder  he  is  asking  me  for  money  enough  to 
start  him  trading  to  the  Indies  !  "  cried  Cerizet.  "And  un- 
fortunately he  has  compelled  me  to  risk  everything  in  State 
speculations.  We  already  owe  heavy  differences  to  the  house 
of  du  Tillet.  I  live  from  hand  to  mouth." 

"Withdraw  your  stakes." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  163 

'•'Oh  !  if  only  I  had  known  this  sooner  !  "  exclaimed  Ceri- 
zet.  "  I  have  missed  my  chance  !  " 

"  One  last  word,"  said  Barker.  "  Keep  your  own  counsel, 
you  are  capable  of  that ;  but  you  must  be  faithful  too,  which 
is  perhaps  less  certain.  We  shall  meet  again,  and  I  will  help 
you  to  make  a  fortune." 

Having  thus  tossed  this  sordid  soul  a  crumb  of  hope  that 
would  secure  silence  for  some  time  to  come,  Carlos,  still  dis- 
guised as  Barker,  betook  himself  to  a  bailiff  whom  he  could 
depend  on,  and  instructed  him  to  get  the  bills  brought  home 
to  Esther. 

"  They  will  be  paid  all  right,"  said  he  to  the  officer.  "  It 
is  an  affair  of  honor  ;  only  we  want  to  do  the  thing  regularly." 

Barker  got  an  attorney  to  represent  Esther  in  court,  so  that 
judgment  might  be  given  in  presence  of  both  parties.  The 
collecting  officer,  who  was  begged  to  act  with  civility,  took 
with  him  all  the  warrants  for  procedure,  and  came  in  person 
to  seize  the  furniture  in  the  Rue  Taitbout,  where  he  was 
received  by  Europe.  Her  personal  liability  once  proved, 
Esther  was  ostensibly  liable,  beyond  dispute,  for  three  hun- 
dred and  more  thousand  francs  of  debt. 

In  all  this  Carlos  displayed  no  great  powers  of  invention. 
The  farce  of  false  debts  is  often  played  in  Paris.  There  are 
many  sub-Gobsecks  and  sub-Gigonnets  who,  for  a  percentage, 
will  lend  themselves  to  this  subterfuge,  and  regard  the  in- 
famous trick  as  a  jest.  In  France  everything — even  a  crime 
— is  done  with  a  laugh.  By  this  means  refractory  parents  are 
made  to  pay,  or  rich  mistresses  who  might  drive  a  hard  bar- 
gain, but  who,  face  to  face  with  flagrant  necessity,  or  some 
impending  dishonor,  pay  up,  if  with  a  bad  grace.  Maxime 
de  Tvailles  had  often  used  such  means,  borrowed  from  the 
comedies  of  the  old  stage.  Carlos  Herrera,  who  wanted  to 
save  the  honor  of  his  gown,  as  well  as  Lucien's,  had  worked 
the  spell  by  a  forgery  not  dangerous  for  him,  but  now  so  fre- 
quently practiced  that  Justice  is  beginning  to  object.  There 


164  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

is,  it  is  said,  a  Bourse  for  false  notes  near  the  Palais  Royal, 
where  you  may  buy  a  forged  signature  for  three  francs. 

Before  entering  on  the  question  of  the  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  that  were  to  keep  the  door  of  the  bedroom,*  Carlos 
determined  first  to  extract  a  hundred  thousand  more  from  de 
Nucingen. 

And  this  was  the  way :  By  his  orders  Asia  got  herself  up 
for  the  baron's  benefit  as  an  old  woman  fully  informed  as  to 
the  unknown  beauty's  affairs. 

Hitherto,  novelists  of  manners  have  placed  on  the  stage  a 
great  many  usurers;  but  the  female  money-lender  has  been 
overlooked,  the  Madame  la  Ressource  of  the  present  day — a 
very  singular  figure,  euphemistically  spoken  of  as  a  "wardrobe 
purchaser;  "  a  part  that  the  ferocious  Asia  could  play,  for  she 
had  two  old-clothes  stores  managed  by  women  she  could  trust 
— one  in  the  Temple  and  the  other  in  the  Rue  Neuve  Saint- 
Marc. 

"You  must  get  into  the  skin  of  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve," 
said  he. 

Herrera  wished  to  see  Asia  dressed  for  the  part. 

The  go-between  arrived  in  a  dress  of  flowered  damask  made 
of  the  curtains  of  some  dismantled  boudoir,  and  one  of  those 
shawls  of  Indian  design — out  of  date,  worn,  and  valueless, 
which  end  their  career  on  the  backs  of  such  women.  She  had 
a  collar  of  magnificent  lace,  though  ragged,  and  a  terrible 
bonnet ;  but  her  shoes  were  of  fine  kid,  in  which  the  flesh  of 
her  fat  feet  made  a  roll  of  open-work,  black-silk  stockings. 

"Look  at  my  waist  buckle  !  "  she  exclaimed,  displaying  a 
piece  of  suspicious-looking  finery,  prominent  on  her  cook's 
stomach.  "There's  style  for  you!  and  my  front!  Oh, 
Ma'me  Nourisson  has  turned  me  out  quite  spiff!  " 

"Be  as  sweet  as  honey  at  first,"  said  Carlos;  "be  almost 
timid,  wary  as  a  cat ;  and,  above  all,  make  the  baron  ashamed 

*  A  quaint  French  term  meaning  the  securing  of  the  marriage-portion. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  165 

of  having  employed  the  police,  without  betraying  that  you 
quake  before  the  constable.  Finally,  make  your  customer 
understand  in  more  or  less  plain  terms  that  you  defy  all  the 
police  in  the  world  to  discover  his  jewel.  Take  care  to  de- 
stroy your  traces. 

"  When  the  baron  gives  you  a  right  to  tap  him  on  the 
stomach  and  call  him  a  pot-bellied  old  rip,  you  may  be  as 
insolent  as  you  please  and  work  him  like  a  footman." 

Nucingen — threatened  by  Asia  with  never  seeing  her  again 
if  he  attempted  the  smallest  espionage — met  the  woman  on  his 
way  to  the  Bourse,  in  secret,  in  a  wretched  apartment  in  the 
Rue  Neuve-Saint-Marc.  How  often,  and  with  what  rapture, 
have  amorous  millionaires  trodden  these  squalid  paths !  the 
pavements  of  Paris  know.  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve,  by  toss- 
ing the  baron  from  hope  to  despair  by  turns,  brought  him  to 
the  point  when  he  insisted  on  being  informed  of  all  that  re- 
lated to  the  unknown  beauty  at  any  cost.  Meanwhile,  the  law 
was  put  in  force,  and  with  such  effect  that  the  bailiffs,  finding 
no  resistance  from  Esther,  put  in  an  execution  on  her  effects 
without  losing  a  day. 

Lucien,  guided  by  his  adviser,  paid  the  recluse  at  Saint- 
Germain  five  or  six  visits.  The  merciless  author  of  all  these 
machinations  thought  this  necessary  to  save  Esther  from  pining 
to  death,  for  her  beauty  was  now  their  capital.  When  the 
time  came  for  them  to  quit  the  park-keeper's  lodge,  he  took 
Lucien  and  the  poor  girl  to  a  place  on  the  road  whence  they 
could  see  Paris,  where  no  one  could  overhear  them.  All 
three  sat  down  in  the  rising  sun,  on  the  trunk  of  a  felled 
poplar,  looking  over  one  of  the  finest  prospects  in  the  world, 
embracing  the  course  of  the  Seine,  with  Montmartre,  Paris, 
and  Saint-Denis. 

" My  children,"  said  Carlos,  "your  dream  is  over.  You, 
little  one,  will  never  see  Lucien  again ;  or  if  you  should,  you 
must  have  known  him,  casually  only,  for  a  few  days,  five  years 
ago." 


166  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Death  has  come  upon  me  then,"  said  she,  without  shed- 
ding a  tear. 

"  Well,  you  have  been  ill  these  five  years,"  said  Herrera. 
"  Imagine  yourself  to  be  consumptive,  and  die  without  boring 
us  with  your  lamentations.  But  you  will  see,  you  can  still 
live,  and  very  comfortably  too.  Leave  us,  Lucien — go  and 
gather  sonnets  !  "  said  he,  pointing  to  a  field  of  clover  a  little 
way  off. 

Lucien  cast  a  look  of  humble  entreaty  at  Esther,  one  of  the 
looks  peculiar  to  such  men — weak  and  greedy,  with  tender 
hearts  and  cowardly  spirits.  Esther  answered  with  a  bow  of 
her  head,  which  said — "  I  will  hear  the  executioner,  that  I 
may  know  how  to  lay  my  head  under  the  axe,  and  I  shall  have 
courage  enough  to  die  decently." 

The  gesture  was  so  gracious,  but  so  full  of  dreadful  mean- 
ing, that  the  poet  wept ;  Esther  flew  to  him,  clasped  him  in 
her  arms,  drank  away  the  tears,  and  said,  "Be  quite  easy!  " 
one  of  those  speeches  that  are  spoken  with  the  manner,  the 
look,  the  tones  of  delirium. 

Carlos  then  explained  to  her  quite  clearly,  without  attenua- 
tion, often  with  horrible  plainness  of  speech,  the  critical 
position  in  which  Lucien  found  himself,  his  connection  with 
the  Hotel  Grandlieu,  his  splendid  prospects  if  he  should  suc- 
ceed ;  and,  finally,  how  necessary  it  was  that  Esther  should 
sacrifice  herself  to  secure  him  this  triumphant  future. 

"What  must  I  do?"  cried  she,  with  the  eagerness  of  a 
fanatic. 

"Obey  me  blindly,"  said  Carlos.  "And  what  have  you 
to  complain  of?  It  rests  with  you  to  achieve  a  happy  lot. 
You  may  be  what  Tullia  is,  what  your  old  friends  Florine, 
Mariette,  and  la  Val-Noble  are — the  mistress  of  a  rich  man 
whom  you  need  not  love.  When  once  our  business  is  settled, 
your  lover  is  rich  enough  to  make  you  happy." 

"Happy !  "  said  she,  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

"You  have  lived  in   paradise   for   four  years,"   said  he. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  167 

"  Can  you  not  live  on  such  memories?  Will  you  now  destroy 
his  career  ?  ' ' 

"I  will  obey  you,"  said  she,  wiping  a  tear  from  the  corner 
of  her  eye.  "  For  the  rest,  do  not  worry  yourself.  You  have 
said  it;  my  love  is  a  mortal  disease." 

"That  is  not  enough,"  said  Carlos;  "you  must  preserve 
your  beauty.  At  a  little  past  two-and-twenty  you  are  in 'the 
prime  of  your  beauty,  thanks  to  your  past  happiness.  And, 
above  all,  be  '  La  Torpille  '  again.  Be  roguish,  extravagant, 
cunning,  merciless  to  the  millionaire  I  put  in  your  power. 
Listen  to  me  !  That  man  is  a  robber  on  a  grand  scale ;  he 
has  been  ruthless  to  many  persons ;  he  has  grown  fat  on  the 
fortunes  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan ;  you  it  is  that  will 
avenge  them ! 

"Asia  is  coming  to  fetch  you  in  a  hackney-coach,  and  you 
will  be  in  Paris  this  evening.  If  you  allow  any  one  to  suspect 
your  connection  with  Lucien,  you  may  as  well  blow  his  brains 
out  at  once.  You  will  be  asked  where  you  have  been  for  so 
long.  You  must  say  that  you  have  been  traveling  with  a  des- 
perately jealous  Englishman.  You  used  to  have  wit  enough 
to  humbug  people.  Find  such  wit  again  now." 

Have  you  ever  seen  a  gorgeous  kite,  the  giant  butterfly  of 
childhood,  twinkling  with  gilding,  and  soaring  to  the  sky? 
The  child  forgets  the  string  that  holds  it,  it  slips  from  his 
hand,  the  gaudy  toy  turns  head  over  heels,  as  the  boys  say, 
and  falls  with  terrific  rapidity.  Such  was  Esther  as  she  listened 
to  Carlos. 


WHAT  LOVE   COSTS  AN  OLD   MAN. 

For  a  whole  week  Nucingen  went  almost  every  day  to  the 
store  in  the  Rue  Neuve-Saint-Marc  to  bargain  for  the  delivery 
of  the  woman  he  desired.  Here,  sometimes  under  the  name 
of  Saint-Esteve,  sometimes  under  that  of  her  tool,  Madame 
Nourisson,  Asia  sat  enthroned  among  beautiful  clothes  in  that 
hideous  condition  when  they  have  ceased  to  be  dresses  and 
are  not  yet  tatters. 

The  setting  was  in  harmony  with  the  appearance  assumed 
by  the  woman,  for  these  stores  are  among  the  most  hideous 
characteristics  of  Paris.  You  find  there  the  garments  tossed 
aside  by  the  skinny  hand  of  death  ;  we  hear,  as  it  were,  the 
gasping  of  consumption  under  a  shawl,  or  detect  the  agonies 
of  beggary  under  a  gown  spangled  with  gold.  The  horrible 
struggle  between  Luxury  and  Hunger  is  written  on  many  a 
filmy  lace ;  you  may  picture  the  countenance  of  a  queen  under 
a  plumed  turban  placed  in  an  attitude  that  recalls  and  almost 
reproduces  the  absent  features.  It  is  the  hideous  amid  pretti- 
ness  !  Juvenal's  lash,  in  the  hands  of  the  auctioneer,  scatters 
the  shabby  muffs,  the  moth-eaten  furs  of  courtesans  at  bay. 

There  is  a  dunghill  of  flowers,  among  which  here  and  there 
we  find  a  bright  rose  plucked  but  yesterday  and  worn  for  a 
day ;  and  on  this  an  old  hag  is  always  to  be  seen  crouching — 
first  cousin  to  Usury,  the  skinflint  bargainer,  bald  and  tooth- 
less, and  ever  ready  to  sell  the  contents,  so  well  is  she  used  to 
sell  the  covering — the  gown  without  the  woman,  or  the  woman 
without  the  gown  ! 

Here  Asia  was  in  her  element,  like  the  warder  among  con- 
victs, like  a  vulture  red-beaked  amid  corpses ;  more  terrible 
than  the  savage  horrors  that  made  the  passer-by  shudder  in 
astonishment  sometimes,  at  seeing  one  of  their  youngest  and 
sweetest  reminiscences  hung  up  in  a  dirty  store-window  be- 
hind which  a  Saint-Esteve  sits  and  grins. 
(168) 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  169 

From  vexation  to  vexation,  a  thousand  francs  at  a  time,  the 
banker  had  gone  so  far  as  to  offer  sixty  thousand  francs  to 
Madame  de  Saint-Esteve,  who  still  refused  to  help  him,  with 
a  grimace  that  would  have  outdone  any  dog-faced  monkey. 
After  a  disturbed  night,  after  confessing  to  himself  that  Esther 
completely  upset  his  ideas,  after  realizing  some  unexpected 
turns  of  fortune  on  the  Bourse,  he  came  to  her  one  day,  in- 
tending to  give  the  hundred  thousand  francs  on  which  Asia 
insisted,  but  he  was  determined  to  have  plenty  of  information 
for  the  money. 

"Well,  have  you  made  up  your  mind,  old  higgler?"  said 
Asia,  clapping  him  on  the  shoulder. 

The  most  dishonoring  familiarity  is  the  first  tax  these  women 
levy  on  the  frantic  passions  or  griefs  that  are  confided  to  them; 
they  never  rise  to  the  level  of  their  clients ;  they  make  them 
squat  beside  them  on  their  mud-heap.  Asia,  it  will  be  seen, 
obeyed  her  master  admirably. 

"  Need  must  !  "  said  Nucingen. 

"And  you  have  the  best  of  the  bargain,"  said  Asia. 
"  Women  have  been  sold  much  dearer  than  this  one  to  you — 
relatively  speaking.  There  are  women  and  women  !  De 
Marsay  paid  sixty  thousand  francs  for  Coralie,  who  is  dead 
now.  The  woman  you  want  cost  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
when  new ;  but  to  you,  you  old  goat,  it  is  a  matter  of  agree- 
ment." 

"But  vere  is  she?" 

"  Ah  !  you  shall  see.  I  am  like  you — nothing  for  nothing  ! 
Oh,  my  good  man,  your  beauty  has  got  into  trouble.  These 
girls  know  no  moderation.  Your  princess  is  at  this  moment 
what  we  call  a  fly-by-night " 

"A  fly ?" 

"  Come,  come,  don't  play  the  ninny.  Louchard  is  at  her 
heels,  and  I — I — have  lent  her  fifty  thousand  francs— — " 

"  Tventy-fife  say  !  "  cried  the  banker. 

"  Well,  of  course,  twenty-five  for  fifty,  that  is  only  natural," 


170  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

replied  Asia.  "To  do  the  woman  justice,  she  is  honesty 
itself.  She  had  nothing  left  but  herself,  and  says  she  to  me: 
'  My  good  Madame  Saint-Esteve,  the  bailiffs  are  after  me ;  no 
one  can  help  me  but  you.  Give  me  twenty  thousand  francs. 
I  will  pledge  my  heart  to  you.'  Oh,  she  has  a  good  heart; 
no  one  but  me  knows  where  it  lies.  Any  folly  on  my  part, 
and  I  should  lose  my  twenty  thousand  francs. 

"Formerly  she  lived  in  the  Rue  Taitbout.  Before  leaving 
(her  furniture  was  seized  for  costs — those  rascally  bailiffs  ! 
You  know  them,  you  who  are  one  of  the  great  men  on  the 
Bourse) — well,  before  leaving,  she  is  no  fool,  she  let  her  rooms 
for  two  months  to  an  Englishwoman,  a  splendid  creature  who 
had  little  thingummy — Rubempre — for  a  lover,  and  he  was  so 
jealous  that  he  only  let  her  go  out  at  night.  But  as  the 
furniture  is  to  be  seized,  the  Englishwoman  has  cut  her  stick, 
all  the  more  because  she  cost  too  much  for  a  little  whipper- 
snapper  like  Lucien." 

"You  cry  up  de  goots,"  said  Nucingen. 

"Naturally,"  said  Asia.  "I  lend  to  the  beauties;  and  it 
pays,  for  you  get  two  commissions  for  one  job." 

Asia  was  amusing  herself  by  caricaturing  the  manners  of  a 
class  of  woman  who  are  even  greedier  but  more  wheedling 
and  mealy-mouthed  than  the  Malay  woman,  and  who  put  a 
gloss  of  the  best  motives  on  the  trade  they  ply.  Asia  affected 
to  have  lost  all  her  illusions,  five  lovers,  and  some  children, 
and  to  have  submitted  to  be  robbed  by  everybody  in  spite  of 
her  experience.  From  time  to  time  she  exhibited  some  pawn- 
tickets,  to  prove  how  much  bad  luck  there  was  in  her  line  of 
business.  She  represented  herself  as  pinched  and  in  debt, 
and,  to  crown  all,  she  was  so  undisguisedly  hideous  that  the 
baron  at  last  believed  her  to  be  all  she  said  she  was. 

"Veil  den,  if  I  shall  pay  de  hundert  tousant,  vere  shall  I 
see  her?"  said  he,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  made  up 
his  mind  to  any  sacrifice. 

"  My  fat  friend,  you  shall  come  this  evening — in  your  car- 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  171 

riage,  of  course — opposite  the  Gymnase.  It  is  on  the  way," 
said  Asia.  "  Stop  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Sainte-Barbe.  I 
will  be  on  the  lookout,  and  we  will  go  and  find  my  mortgage 
with  the  black  hair.  Oh,  she  has  such  splendid  hair,  has  my 
mortgage.  If  she  pulls  out  her  comb,  Esther  is  covered  as  if 
it  were  a  flag.  But  though  you  are  knowing  in  arithmetic, 
you  strike  me  as  a  muff  in  other  matters;  and  I  advise  you  to 
hide  the  girl  safely,  for  if  she  is  found  she  will  be  clapped 
into  Sainte-Pelagie  the  very  next  day.  And  they  are  looking 
everywhere  for  her." 

" Shall  it  not  be  possible  to  get  holt  of  de  bills? "  said  the 
incorrigible  bill-broker. 

"The  bailiffs  have  got  them — but  it  is  impossible.  The 
girl  has  had  a  passion,  and  has  spent  some  money  left  in  her 
hands,  which  she  is  now  called  upon  to  pay.  By  the  poker  ! 
A  queer  thing  is  a  heart  of  two-and-twenty." 

"  Ver'  goot,  ver'  goot,  I  shall  arrange  all  dat,"  said  Nucin- 
gen,  assuming  a  cunning  look.  "It  is  qvite  settled  dat  I 
shall  protect  her." 

"  Well,  old  noodle,  it  is  your  business  to  make  her  fall  in 
love  with  you,  and  you  certainly  have  ample  means  to  buy 
sham  love  as  good  as  the  real  article.  I  will  place  your 
princess  in  your  keeping ;  she  is  bound  to  stick  to  you,  and 
after  that  I  don't  care.  But  she  is  accustomed  to  luxury  and 
the  greatest  consideration.  I  tell  you,  my  boy,  she  is  quite 
the  lady.  If  not,  should  I  have  given  her  twenty  thousand 
francs?" 

"Ver'  goot,  it  is  a  pargain.     Till  dis  efening." 

The  baron  repeated  the  bridal  toilet  he  had  already  once 
achieved ;  but  this  time,  being  certain  of  success,  he  took  a 
double  dose  of  pilulc-toniquc. 

At  nine  o'clock  he  found  the  dreadful  woman  at  the 
appointed  spot,  and  took  her  into  his  carriage. 

"  Vere  to?  "  said  the  baron. 

"  Where?  "  echoed  Asia.     "  Rue  de  la  Perle  in  the  Marais 


172  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

— an  address  for  the  nonce ;  for  your  pearl  is  in  the  mud,  but 
you  will  wash  her  clean." 

Having  reached  the  spot,  the  false  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve 
said  to  Nucingen  with  a  hideous  grin : 

"  We  must  go  a  short  way  on  foot ;  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as 
to  have  given  you  the  right  address." 

"You  tink  of  eferytink  !  "  said  the  baron. 

"It  is  my  business,"  said  she. 

Asia  led  Nucingen  to  the  Rue  Barbette,  where,  in  furnished 
lodgings  kept  by  an  upholsterer,  he  was  led  up  to  the  fourth 
floor. 

On  finding  Esther  in  a  squalid  room,  dressed  as  a  work- 
woman, and  employed  on  some  embroidery,  the  millionaire 
turned  pale.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  while  Asia 
affected  to  talk  in  whispers  to  Esther,  the  young-old  man 
could  still  hardly  speak. 

"Montemisselle,"  said  he  at  length  to  the  unhappy  girl, 
"vill  you  be  so  goot  as  to  take  me  for  protector?" 

"Why,  I  cannot  help  myself,  monsieur,"  replied  Esther, 
letting  fall  two  large  tears. 

"  Do  not  veep.  I  shall  make  you  de  happiest  of  vomen. 
Only  permit  that  I  shall  lof  you — you  shall  see." 

"Well,  well,  child,  the  gentleman  is  reasonable,"  said 
Asia.  "  He  knows  that  he  is  more  than  sixty,  and  he  will  be 
very  kind  to  you.  You  see,  my  beauty,  I  have  found  you 
quite  a  father — I  had  to  say  so,"  Asia  whispered  to  the  banker, 
who  was  not  best  pleased.  "You  cannot  catch  swallows  by 
firing  a  pistol  at  them.  Come  here,"  she  went  on,  leading 
Nucingen  into  the  adjoining  room,  "you  remember  our  bar- 
gain, my  angel  ?" 

Nucingen  took  out  his  pocket-book  and  counted  out  the 
hundred  thousand  francs,  which  Carlos,  hidden  in  a  cupboard, 
was  impatiently  waiting  for,  and  which  the  cook  handed  over 
to  him. 

"  Here  are  the  hundred  thousand  francs  our  man  stakes  in 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  173 

Asia.  Now  we  must  make  him  invest  in  Europe,"  said  Carlos 
to  his  confidante  when  they  were  on  the  landing. 

And  he  vanished  after  giving  his  instructions  to  the  Malay, 
who  went  back  into  the  room.  She  found  Esther  weeping 
bitterly.  The  poor  girl,  like  a  criminal  condemned  to  death, 
had  woven  a  romance  of  hope,  but  the  fatal  hour  had  tolled. 

"My  dear  children,"  said  Asia,  "where  do  you  mean  to 
go?  For  the  Baron  de  Nucingen " 

Esther  looked  at  the  great  banker  with  a  start  of  surprise 
that  was  admirably  acted. 

"  Ja,  mein  sveet,  I  am  dat  Baron  von  Nucingen." 

"The  Baron  de  Nucingen  must  not,  cannot  remain  in  such 
a  room  as  this,"  Asia  went  on.  "  Listen  to  me  ;  your  former 
maid  Eugenie." 

"Eugenie — from  de  Rue  Taitbout?"  cried  the  baron. 

"  Just  so ;  the  woman  placed  in  possession  of  the  furniture," 
replied  Asia,  "  and  who  let  the  apartment  to  that  handsome 
Englishwoman ' ' 

"  Hah  !   I  onderstant !  "  said  the  baron. 

"Madame's  former  waiting-maid,"  Asia  went  on,  respect- 
fully alluding  to  Esther,  "will  receive  you  very  comfortably 
this  evening ;  and  the  commercial  police  will  never  think  of 
looking  for  her  in  her  old  rooms  which  she  left  three  months 
ago " 

"Feerst  rate,  feerst  rate  !  "  cried  the  baron.  "An'  beside, 
I  know  dese  commercial  police,  an'  I  know  vat  sorts  shall 
make  dem  disappear." 

"You  will  find  Eugenie  a  sharp  customer,"  said  Asia.  " I 
found  her  for  madame." 

"Hah!  I  know  her!"  cried  the  millionaire,  laughing. 
"She  haf  fleeced  me  of  dirty  tousant  franc." 

Esther  shuddered  with  horror  in  a  way  that  would  have  led 
a  man  of  any  feeling  to  trust  her  with  his  fortune. 

"Oh,  dat  vas  mein  own  fault,"  the  baron  said.  "I  vas 
seeking  for  you." 


174  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

And  he  related  the  incident  that  had  arisen  out  of  the  let- 
ting of  Esther's  rooms  to  the  Englishwoman. 

"There,  now,  you  see,  madame,  Eugenie  never  told  you 
all  that,  the  sly  thing!  "  said  Asia.  "Still,  madame  is  used 
to  the  hussy,"  she  added  to  the  baron.  "Kee  heron,  all 
the  same." 

She  drew  Nucingen  aside  and  said : 

"  If  you  give  Eugenie  five  hundred  francs  a  month,  which 
will  fill  up  her  stocking  finely,  you  can  know  everything  that 
madame  does:  make  her  the  lady's  maid.  Eugenie  will  be 
all  the  more  devoted  to  you  since  she  has  already  done  you. 
Nothing  attaches  a  woman  to  a  man  more  than  the  fact  that 
she  has  once  fleeced  him.  But  keep  a  tight  rein  on  Eugenie  ; 
she  will  do  any  earthly  thing  for  money ;  she  is  a  dreadful 
creature  !  " 

"An*  vat  of  you?" 

"  I,"  said  Asia,  "  I  make  both  ends  meet." 

Nucingen,  the  astute  financier,  had  a  bandage  over  his  eyes ; 
he  allowed  himself  to  be  led  like  a  child.  The  sight  of  that 
spotless  and  adorable  Esther  wiping  her  eyes  and  pricking  in 
the  stitches  of  her  embroidery  as  demurely  as  an  innocent 
girl,  revived  in  the  amorous  old  man  the  sensations  he  had 
experienced  in  the  Forest  of  Vincennes ;  he  would  have  given 
her  the  key  of  his  safe.  He  felt  so  young,  his  heart  was  so 
overflowing  with  adoration ;  he  only  waited  till  Asia  should 
be  gone  to  throw  himself  at  the  feet  of  this  Raphael's 
Madonna. 

This  sudden  blossoming  of  youth  in  the  heart  of  a  stock- 
broker, of  an  old  man,  is  one  of  the  social  phenomena  which 
must  be  left  to  physiology  to  account  for.  Crushed  under  the 
burden  of  business,  stifled  under  the  endless  calculations  and 
the  incessant  anxieties  of  million-hunting,  young  emotions 
revive  with  their  sublime  illusions,  sprout  and  flower  like  a 
forgotten  cause  or  a  lost  seed,  whose  effects  and  gorgeous 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  175 

bloom  are  the  sport   of  chance,  brought  out  by  a  late  and 
sudden  gleam  of  sunshine. 

The  baron,  a  clerk  by  the  time  he  was  twelve  years  old  in 
the  ancient  house  of  Aldrigger  at  Strasbourg,  had  never  set 
foot  in  the  world  of  sentiment.  So  there  he  stood  in  front  of 
his  idol,  hearing  in  his  brain  a  thousand  modes  of  speech, 
while  none  came  to  his  lips,  till  at  length  he  acted  on  the 
brutal  promptings  of  desire  that  betrayed  the  man  of  sixty- 
six. 

"  Vill  you  come  to  the  Rue  Taitbout  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Wherever  you  please,  monsieur,"  said  Esther,  rising. 

" Verever  I  please!"  he  echoed  in  rapture.  "You  are 
ein  anchel  from  de  sky,  and  I  lofe  you  more  as  if  I  was  a 
little  young  man,  vile  I  hafe  gray  hairs " 

"  You  had  better  say  white,  for  they  are  too  black  a  black 
to  be  only  gray,"  said  Asia. 

"  Get  out,  foul  dealer  in  human  flesh  !  You  hafe  got  your 
moneys;  do  not  slobber  no  more  on  dis  flower  of  lofe!" 
cried  the  banker,  indemnifying  himself  by  this  violent  abuse 
for  all  the  insolence  to  which  he  had  submitted. 

"  You  old  rip  !  I  will  pay  you  out  for  that  speech  !  "  said 
Asia,  threatening  the  banker  with  a  gesture  worthy  of  the 
Halle,  at  which  the  baron  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  Between  the  lip  of  the  pot  and  that  of  the  guzzler  there  is 
often  a  viper,  and  you  will  find  me  there!  "  she  went  on, 
furious  at  Nucingen's  contempt. 

Millionaires,  whose  money  is  guarded  by  the  Bank  of 
France,  whose  mansions  are  guarded  by  a  squad  of  footmen, 
whose  person  in  the  streets  is  safe  behind  the  rampart  of  a 
coach  with  swift  English  horses,  fear  no  ill ;  so  the  baron 
looked  calmly  at  Asia,  as  a  man  who  had  just  given  her  a 
hundred  thousand  francs. 

This  dignity  had  its  effect.  Asia  beat  a  retreat,  growling 
down  the  stairs  in  highly  revolutionary  language;  she  spoke 
of  the  guillotine ! 


176  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"What  have  you  said  to  her?"  asked  the  Madonna  of  the 
embroidery,  "  for  she  is  a  good  soul." 

"She  hafe  solt  you,  she  hafe  robbed  you,  she  vas  a  pad 
voman " 

"When  we  are  beggared,"  said  she,  in  a  tone  to  rend  the 
heart  of  a  diplomat,  "who  has  ever  any  money  or  consider- 
ation for  us?  " 

"Poor  leetle  ting  !  "  said  Nucingen.  "  Do  not  stop  here 
ein  moment  longer." 

The  baron  offered  her  his  arm ;  he  led  her  away  just  as 
she  was,  and  put  her  into  his  carriage  with  more  respect 
perhaps  than  he  would  have  shown  to  the  handsome  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse. 

"  You  shall  hafe  a  fine  carriage,  de  prettiest  carriage  in 
Paris,"  said  Nucingen,  as  they  drove  along.  "  Everyting  dat 
luxury  can  sopply  shall  be  for  you.  Not  any  qveen  shall  be 
more  rich  dan  vat  you  shall  be.  You  shall  be  respected  like 
ein  Cherman  Braut.  I  shall  hafe  you  to  be  free.  Do  not 
veep !  Listen  to  me — I  lofe  you  really,  truly,  mit  de  purest 
lofe.  Efery  tear  of  yours  breaks  my  heart." 

"  Can  one  truly  love  a  woman  one  has  bought  ?"  said  the 
poor  girl  in  the  sweetest  tones. 

"  Choseph  vas  solt  by  his  broders  for  dat  he  was  so  comely. 
Dat  is  so  in  de  Biple.  An"  in  de  Eastern  lants  men  buy  deir 
wifes." 

On  arriving  at  the  Rue  Taitbout,  Esther  could  not  return  to 
the  scene  of  her  happiness  without  some  pain.  She  remained 
sitting  on  a  couch,  motionless,  drying  away  her  tears  one  by 
one,  and  never  hearing  a  word  of  the  crazy  speeches  poured 
out  by  the  banker.  He  fell  at  her  feet,  and  she  let  him  kneel 
without  saying  a  word  to  him,  allowing  him  to  take  her 
hands  as  he  would,  and  never  thinking  of  the  sex  of  the 
creature  who  was  rubbing  her  feet  to  warm  them  ;  for  Nu- 
cingen found  that  they  were  cold. 

This  scene  of  scalding  tears  shed  on  the  baron's  head,  and 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  177 

of  ice-cold  feet  that  he  tried  to  warm,  lasted  from  midnight 
till  two  in  the  morning. 

"Eugenie,"  cried  the  baron  at  last  to  Europe,  "persvade 
your  mis' ess  that  she  shall  go  to  bet." 

"No!"  cried  Esther,  starting  to  her  feet  like  a  scared 
horse.  "  Never  in  this  house  !  " 

"Look  here,  monsieur,  I  know  madame;  she  is  as  gentle 
and  kind  as  a  lamb,"  said  Europe  to  the  baron.  "  Only  you 
must  not  rub  her  the  wrong  way,  you  must  get  at  her  sideways 
— she  had  been  so  miserable  here.  You  see  how  worn  the 
furniture  is.  Let  her  go  her  own  way. 

"Furnish  some  pretty  little  house  for  her,  very  nicely. 
Perhaps  when  she  sees  everything  new  about  her  she  will  feel 
a  stranger  there,  and  think  you  better  looking  than  you  are, 
and  be  angelically  sweet.  Oh  !  madame  has  not  her  match, 
and  you  may  boast  of  having  done  a  very  good  stroke  of  busi- 
ness: a  good  heart,  genteel  manners,  a  fine  instep — and  a 
skin,  a  complexion  !  Ah  ! 

"  And  witty  enough  to  make  a  condemned  wretch  laugh. 
And  madame  can  feel  an  attachment.  And  then  how  she 
can  dress !  Well,  if  it  is  costly,  still,  as  they  say,  you  get 
your  money's  worth.  Here  all  the  gowns  were  seized,  every- 
thing she  has  is  three  months  old.  But  madame  is  so  kind, 
you  see,  that  I  love  her,  and  she  is  my  mistress  !  But  in  all 
justice — such  a  woman  as  she  is,  in  the  midst  of  furniture  that 
has  been  seized  !  And  for  whom?  For  a  young  scamp  who 
has  ruined  her.  Poor  little  thing,  she  is  not  at  all  herself." 

"Esther,  Esther;  go  to  bet,  my  anchel !     If  it  is  me  vat 

frighten  you,  I  shall  stay  here  on  dis  sofa "   cried  the 

baron,  fired  by  the  purest  devotion,  as  he  saw  that  Esther  was 
still  weeping. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Esther,  taking  the  "lynx's"  hand, 
and  kissing  it  with  an  impulse  of  gratitude  which  brought 
something  very  like  a  tear  to  his  eye,  "  I  shall  be  grateful 

to  you " 

12 


178  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

And  she  fled  into  her  room  and  locked  the  door. 

"  Dere  is  someting  fery  strange  in  all  dat,"  thought  Nu- 
cingen, excited  by  his  strengthening  bolus.  "Vat  shall  dey 
say  at  home?  " 

He  got  up  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  "  My  carriage 
still  is  dere.  It  shall  soon  be  daylight."  He  walked  up  and 
down  the  room. 

"  Vat,  Montame  de  Nucingen  should  laugh  at  me  ven  she 
should  know  how  I  hafe  spent  dis  night !  " 

He  applied  his  ear  to  the  bedroom  door,  thinking  himself 
rather  too  much  of  a  simpleton. 

"Esther!" 

No  reply. 

"  Mein  Gott .  an  she  is  still  veeping  !  "  said  he  to  himself, 
as  he  stretched  himself  on  the  sofa. 

About  ten  minutes  after  sunrise,  the  Baron  de  Nucingen, 
who  was  sleeping  the  uneasy  slumbers  that  are  snatched  by 
compulsion  in  an  awkward  position  on  a  couch,  was  aroused 
with  a  start  by  Europe  from  one  of  those  dreams  that  visit  us 
in  such  moments,  and  of  which  the  swift  complications  are  a 
phenomenon  inexplicable  by  medical  physiology. 

"Oh,  God  help  us,  madame?  "  she  shrieked.  "  Madame! 
— the  soldiers — gendarmes — bailiffs  !  They  have  come  to 
take  us." 

At  the  moment  when  Esther  opened  her  door  and  appeared, 
hurriedly  wrapped  in  her  dressing-gown,  her  bare  feet  in  slip- 
pers, her  hair  in  disorder,  lovely  enough  to  bring  the  angel 
Raphael  to  perdition,  the  drawing-room  door  vomited  into 
the  room  a  gutter  of  human  mire  that  came  on,  on  ten  feet, 
toward  the  beautiful  girl,  who  stood  like  an  angel  in  some 
Flemish  church  picture.  One  man  came  foremost.  Con- 
tenson,  the  horrible  Contenson,  laid  his  hand  on  Esther's 
dewy  shoulder. 

"You  are  Mademoiselle  van "  he  began.  Europe,  by 

a  back-handed  slap  on  Contenson's  cheek,  sent  him  sprawling 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS,  179 

to  measure  his  length  on  the  carpet,  and  with  all  the  more 
effect  because  at  the  same  time  she  caught  his  leg  with  the 
sharp  kick  known  to  those  who  practice  the  art  as  a  coup  de 
savate. 

"Hands  off !  "  cried  she.  "No  one  shall  touch  my  mis- 
tress." 

"She  has  broken  my  leg!"  yelled  Contenson,  picking 
himself  up ;  "  I  will  have  damages  !  " 

From  the  group  of  bum  constables,  looking  like  what  they 
were,  all  standing  with  their  horrible  hats  on  their  yet  more 
horrible  heads,  with  mahogany-colored  faces  and  bleared  eyes, 
damaged  noses,  and  hideous  mouths,  Louchard  now  stepped 
forth,  more  decently  dressed  than  his  men,  but  keeping  his 
hat  on,  his  expression  at  once  smooth-faced  and  smiling. 

"Mademoiselle,  I  arrest  you !"  said  he  to  Esther.  "As 
for  you,  my  girl,"  he  added  to  Europe,  "any  resistance  will 
be  punished,  and  be  perfectly  useless." 

The  noise  of  muskets,  let  down  with  a  thud  of  their  stocks 
on  the  floor  of  the  dining-room,  showing  that  the  invaders 
had  soldiers  to  back  them,  gave  emphasis  to  this  speech. 

"And  for  what  am  I  arrested?  "  asked  Esther. 

"What  about  our  little  debts  ?  "  said  Louchard. 

"To  be  sure,"  cried  Esther ;  "give  me  leave  to  dress." 

"  But,  unfortunately,  mademoiselle,  I  am  obliged  to  make 
sure  that  you  have  no  way  of  getting  out  of  your  room,"  said 
Louchard. 

All  this  passed  so  quickly  that  the  baron  had  not  yet  had 
time  to  intervene. 

"Well,  and  am  I  still  a  foul  dealer  in  human  flesh,  Baron 
de  Nucingen?"  cried  the  hideous  Asia,  forcing  her  way  past 
the  sheriff's  officers  to  the  couch,  where  she  pretended  to  have 
just  discovered  the  banker. 

"  Contemptible  wretch  !  "  exclaimed  Nucingen,  drawing 
himself  up  in  financial  majesty. 

He  placed  himself  between  Esther  and  Louchard,  who  took 


180  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

off  his  hat  as  Contenson  cried  out,  "Monsieur  le  Baron  de 
Nucingen." 

At  a  signal  from  Louchard  the  bailiffs  vanished  from  the 
room,  respectfully  taking  their  hats  off.  Contenson  alone 
was  left. 

"  Do  you  propose  to  pay,  Monsieur  le  Baron?"  asked  he, 
hat  in  hand. 

"  I  vill  pay,"  said  the  banker;  "  but  I  must  know  vat  dis  is 
all  about." 

"Three  hundred  and  twelve  thousand  francs  .and  some 
centimes,  costs  paid ;  but  the  charges  for  the  arrest  not  in- 
cluded." 

"Three  hundred  thousand  francs,"  cried  the  baron  ;  "dat 
is  a  fery  'xpensive  vaking  for  a  man  vat  has  passed  de  night 
on  a  sofa,"  he  added  in  Europe's  ear. 

"  Is  that  man  really  the  Baron  de  Nucingen?  "  said  Europe 
to  Louchard,  giving  weight  to  the  doubt  by  a  gesture  which 
Mademoiselle  Dupont,  the  low  comedy  servant  of  the  Fran9ais, 
might  have  envied. 

"Yes,  mademoiselle,"  said  Louchard. 

"Yes,"  replied  Contenson. 

"I  shall  be  answerable,"  said  the  baron,  piqued  in  his 
honor  by  Europe's  doubt.  "You  shall  'How  me  to  say  ein 
vort  to  her." 

Esther  and  her  elderly  lover  retired  to  the  bedroom,  Lou- 
chard finding  it  necessary  to  apply  his  ear  to  the  keyhole. 

"  I  lofe  you  more  as  my  life,  Esther ;  but  vy  gife  to  your 
creditors  moneys  vich  shall  be  so  much  better  in  your  pocket  ? 
Go  into  prison.  I  shall  ondertake  to  buy  up  dose  hundert 
tousant  crowns  for  ein  hundert  tousant  francs,  an'  so  you  shall 
hafe  two  hundert  tousant  francs  for  you " 

"That  scheme  is  perfectly  useless,"  cried  Louchard  through 
the  door.  "  The  creditor  is  not  in  love  with  mademoiselle — 
not  he !  You  understand  ?  And  he  means  to  have  more 
than  all,  now  he  knows  that  you  are  in  love  with  her." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PXOGKESS.  181 

"You  dam'  sneak!"  cried  Nucingen,  opening  the  door, 
and  dragging  Louchard  into  the  bedroom;  "  you  know  not 
dat  vat  you  talk  about.  I  shall  gife  you,  you'self,  tventy  per 
cent,  if  you  make  the  job." 

"Impossible,  Monsieur  le  Baron." 

"  What,  monsieur,  you  could  have  the  heart  to  let  my  mis- 
tress go  to  prison?"  said  Europe,  intervening.  "But  take 
my  wages,  my  savings ;  take  them,  madame ;  I  have  forty 
thousand  francs " 

"  Ah,  my  good  girl,  I  did  not  really  know  you  !  "  cried 
Esther,  clasping  Europe  in  her  arms. 

Europe  proceeded  to  melt  into  tears. 

"I  shall  pay,"  said  the  baron  piteously,  as  he  drew  out  a 
pocketbook,  from  which  he  took  one  of  the  little  printed 
forms  which  the  Bank  of  France  issues  to  bankers,  on  which 
they  have  only  to  write  a  sum  in  figures  and  in  words  to  make 
them  available  as  cheques  to  bearer. 

"It  is  not  worth  the  trouble,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said 
Louchard  ;  "  I  have  instructions  not  to  accept  payment  in 
anything  but  coin  of  the  realm — gold  or  silver.  As  it  is  you, 
I  will  take  bank-notes." 

"Der  teufel !  "  cried  the  baron.  "Well,  show  me  your 
papers." 

Contenson  handed  him  three  packets  covered  with  blue 
paper,  which  the  baron  took,  looking  at  the  man,  and  adding 
in  an  undertone — 

"  It  should  hafe  been  a  better  day's  vork  for  you  ven  you 
had  gife  me  notice." 

"  Why,  how  should  I  know  you  were  here,  Monsieur  le 
Baron?"  replied  the  spy,  heedless  whether  Louchard  heard 
him.  "You  lost  my  services  by  withdrawing  your  confi- 
dence. You  are  done,"  added  this  philosopher,  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 

"  Qvite  true,"  said  the  baron.  "Ah,  my  chilt,"  he  ex- 
claimed, seeing  the  bills  of  exchange,  and  turning  to  Esther, 


182  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  you  are  de  fictim  of  a  torough  scoundrel,  ein  rascally  high- 
way tief!  " 

"Alas,  yes,"  said  poor  Esther;  "but  he  once  loved  me 
truly." 

"Ven  I  should  hafe  known — I  should  hafe  made  you  to 
protest— 

"You  are  off  your  head,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  Lou- 
chard;  "there  is  a  third  endorsement  on  the  notes,"  added 
the  constable. 

"Yes,  dere  is  a  tird  endorsement — Cerizet !  A  man  of  de 
Opposition." 

"  Will  you  write  an  order  on  your  cashier,  Monsieur  le 
Baron?"  said  Louchard.  "I  will  send  Contenson  to  him 
and  dismiss  my  men.  It  is  getting  late,  and  everybody  will 
know  that " 

"Go  den,  Contenson,"  said  Nucingen.  "My cashier  lives 
at  de  corner  of  Rue  des  Mathurins  and  Rue  de  1'Arcate. 
Here  is  ein  vort  for  dat  he  shall  go  to  du  Tillet  or  to  de 
Kellers,  in  case  ve  shall  not  hafe  a  hundert  tousant  francs — 
for  our  cash  shall  be  all  at  de  bank.  Get  dress',  my  anchel," 
he  said  to  Esther.  "You  are  at  liberty.  An'  old  vomans," 
he  went  on,  looking  at  Asia,  "are  more  dangerous  as  young 
vomans." 

"  I  will  go  and  give  the  creditor  a  good  laugh,"  said  Asia, 
"and  he  will  give  me  something  for  a  treat  to-day.  We  bear 
no  malice,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  added  Sainte-Esteve  with  a 
horrible  curtsey. 

Louchard  took  the  bills  out  of  the  baron's  hands,  and  re- 
mained alone  with  him  in  the  drawing-room,  whither,  half  an 
hour  later,  the  cashier  came,  followed  by  Contenson.  Esther 
then  reappeared  in  a  bewitching,  though  improvised  costume. 
When  the  money  had  been  counted  by  Louchard,  the  baron 
wished  to  examine  the  bills  of  exchange  ;  but  Esther  snatched 
them  with  a  kitten-like  grab,  and  carried  them  away  to  her 
desk. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  183 

"  What  will  you  give  the  rabble  ?  "  said  Contenson  to  Nu- 
cingen. 

"  You  hafe  not  shown  much  consideration,"  said  the  baron. 

"And  what  about  my  leg  ?  "  cried  Contenson. 

"  Louchart,  you  shall  gife  ein  hundert  francs  to  Contenson 
out  of  the  change  of  the  tousand-francs  note." 

"De  lady  is  a  beauty,"  said  the  cashier  to  the  baron,  as 
they  left  the  Rue  Taitbout,  "but  she  is  costing  you  ver'  dear, 
Monsieur  le  Baron." 

"  Keep  my  segret,"  said  the  baron,  who  had  said  the  same 
to  Contenson  and  Louchard. 

Louchard  went  away  with  Contenson;  but  on  the  boule- 
vard Asia,  who  was  looking  out  for  him,  stopped  Louchard. 

"The  bailiff  and  the  creditor  are  there  in  a  coach,"  said 
she.  "  They  are  thirsty  for  their  property,  and  there  is  money 
going." 

While  Louchard  counted  out  the  cash,  Contenson  studied 
the  customers.  He  recognized  Carlos  by  his  eyes,  and  traced 
the  form  of  his  forehead  under  the  wig.  This  wig  he  shrewdly 
regarded  as  suspicious ;  he  took  the  number  of  the  cab  while 
seeming  quite  indifferent  to  what  was  going  on ;  Asia  and 
Europe  puzzled  him  beyond  measure.  He  thought  that  the 
baron  was  the  victim  of  excessively  clever  sharpers,  all  the 
more  so  because  Louchard,  when  securing  his  services,  had 
been  singularly  close.  And,  beside,  the  twist  of  Europe's  foot 
had  not  struck  his  shin  only. 

"A  trick  like  that  is  only  learned  at  Saint-Lazare,"  he  had 
reflected  as  he  got  up. 

Carlos  dismissed  the  bailiff,  paying  him  liberally,  and  as 
he  did  so,  said  to  the  driver  of  the  coach,  "To  the  Perron, 
Palais  Royal." 

"The  rascal  !  "  thought  Contenson  as  he  heard  the  order. 
"  There  is  something  up  !  "  Carlos  drove  to  the  Palais  Royal 
at  a  pace  which  precluded  all  fear  of  pursuit.  He  made  his 
way  in  his  own  fashion  through  the  arcades,  took  another 


184  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

coach  on  the  Place  du  Chateau  d'Eau,  and  bid  the  man  go 
"  to  the  Passage  de  1'Opera,  the  end  by  the  Rue  Pinon." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  he  was  in  the  Rue  Taitbout. 
On  seeing  him,  Esther  said  : 

"  Here  are  the  fatal  papers." 

Carlos  took  the  bills  of  exchange,  examined,  and  then  burnt 
them  in  the  kitchen  fire. 

"We  have  done  the  trick,"  he  said,  showing  her  three 
hundred  and  ten  thousand  francs  in  a  roll,  which  he  took 
out  of  the  pocket  of  his  overcoat.  "This,  and  the  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  squeezed  out  by  Asia,  set  us  free  to 
act." 

"  Oh  God,  oh  my  God  !  "  cried  poor  Esther. 

"But,  you  idiot,"  said  the  ferocious  swindler,  "  you  have 
only  to  be  ostensibly  Nucingen's  mistress,  and  you  can  always 
see  Lucien  ;  he  is  Nucingen's  friend ;  I  do  not  forbid  your 
being  madly  in  love  with  him." 

Esther  saw  a  glimmer  of  light  in  her  darkened  life;  she 
breathed  once  more. 

"Europe,  my  girl,"  said  Carlos,  leading  the  creature  into 
a  corner  of  the  boudoir  where  no  one  could  overhear  a  word : 
"  Europe,  I  am  pleased  with  you." 

Europe  held  up  her  head,  and  looked  at  this  man  with  an 
expression  which  so  completely  changed  her  faded  features, 
that  Asia,  witnessing  the  interview,  as  she  watched  her  from 
the  door,  wondered  whether  the  interest  by  which  Carlos  held 
Europe  might  not  perhaps  be  even  stronger  than  that  by  which 
she  herself  was  bound  to  him. 

"That  is  not  all,  my  child.  Four  hundred  thousand  francs 
are  a  mere  nothing  to  me.  Paccard  will  give  you  an  account 
for  some  plate,  amounting  to  thirty  thousand  francs,  on  which 
money  has  been  paid  on  account ;  but  our  goldsmith,  Bidden, 
has  paid  money  for  us.  Our  furniture,  seized  by  him,  will  no 
doubt  be  advertised  to-morrow.  Go  and  see  Biddin  ;  he  lives 
in  the  Rue  de  1'Arbre  Sec;  he  will  give  you  Mont-de-Piete 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  185 

tickets  for  ten  thousand  francs.  You  understand,  Esther 
ordered  the  plate ;  she  has  not  paid  for  it,  and  she  put  it  up 
the  spout.  She  will  be  in  danger  of  a  little  summons  for 
swindling.  So  we  must  pay  the  goldsmith  the  thirty  thousand 
francs,  and  pay  up  ten  thousand  francs  to  the  Mont-de-Piete 
to  get  the  plate  back.  Forty-three  thousand  francs  in  all, 
including  the  costs.  The  silver  is  very  much  alloyed;  the 
baron  will  give  her  a  new  service,  and  we  shall  bone  a  few 
thousand  francs  out  of  that.  You  owe — what?  two  years' 
account  with  the  dressmaker?" 

"Put  it  at  six  thousand  francs,"  replied  Europe. 

"  Well,  if  Madame  Auguste  wants  to  be  paid  and  keep  our 
custom,  tell  her  to  make  out  a  bill  for  thirty  thousand  francs 
running  over  four  years.  Make  a  similar  arrangement  with 
the  milliner.  The  jeweler,  Samuel  Frisch  the  Jew,  in  the 
Rue  Sainte-Avoie,  will  lend  you  some  pawn-tickets ;  we  must 
owe  him  twenty-five  thousand  francs,  and  we  must  want  six 
thousand  for  jewels  pledged  at  the  Mont-de-Piete.  We  will 
return  the  trinkets  to  the  jeweler,  half  the  stones  will  be 
imitation,  but  the  baron  will  not  examine  them.  In  short, 
you  will  make  him  fork  out  another  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  to  add  to  our  nest-eggs  within  a  week." 

"Madame  might  give  me  a  little  help,"  said  Europe. 
"  Tell  her  so,  for  she  sits  there  like  a  dummy,  and  obliges 
me  to  find  more  inventions  than  three  authors  for  one  piece." 

"If  Esther  turns  prude,  just  let  me  know,"  said  Carlos. 
"  Nucingen  must  give  her  a  carriage  and  horses ;  she  will  have 
to  choose  and  buy  everything  herself.  Go  to  the  horse-dealer 
and  the  coachmaker  who  are  employed  by  the  livery-man  where 
Paccard  finds  work.  We  shall  get  handsome  horses,  very 
dear,  which  will  go  lame  within  a  month,  and  we  shall  have 
to  change  them." 

"We  might  get  five  or  six  thousand  francs  out  of  a  per- 
fumer's bill,"  said  Europe. 

"Oh!"  said  he,  shaking  his  head,  "we  must  go  gently. 


186  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Nucingen  has  only  got  his  arm  into  the  press ;  we  must  have 
his  head.  Beside  all  this,  I  must  get  another  five  hundred 
thousand  francs." 

"You  can  get  them,"  replied  Europe.  "Madame  will 
soften  toward  the  fat  fool  for  about  six  hundred  thousand, 
and  insist  on  four  hundred  thousand  more  to  love  him  truly  !  " 

"Listen  to  me,  my  child,"  said  Carlos.  "The  day  when 
I  get  the  last  hundred  thousand  francs,  there  shall  be  twenty 
thousand  for  yourself." 

"What  good  will  they  do  me?"  said  Europe,  letting  her 
arms  drop  like  a  woman  to  whom  life  seems  impossible. 

"  You  could  go  back  to  Valenciennes,  buy  a  good  business, 
and  set  up  as  an  honest  woman  if  you  chose ;  there  are  many 
tastes  in  human  nature.  Paccard  thinks  of  settling  some- 
times ;  he  has  no  encumbrances  on  his  hands,  and  not  much 
on  his  conscience ;  you  might  suit  each  other,"  replied  Carlos. 

"  Go  back  to  Valenciennes  !  What  are  you  thinking  of, 
monsieur?"  cried  Europe  in  alarm. 

Europe,  who  was  born  at  Valenciennes,  the  child  of  very 
poor  parents,  had  been  sent  at  seven  years  of  age  to  a  rope- 
walk,  where  the  demands  of  modern  industry  had  impaired 
her  physical  strength,  just  as  vice  had  untimely  depraved  her. 
Corrupted  at  the  age  of  twelve,  and  a  mother  at  thirteen,  she 
found  herself  bound  to  the  most  degraded  human  creatures. 
On  the  occasion  of  a  murder  case,  she  had  been  called  as  a 
witness  before  the  Court.  Haunted  at  sixteen  by  a  remnant 
of  rectitude,  and  the  terror  inspired  by  the  law,  her  evidence 
led  to  the  prisoner  being  sentenced  to  twenty  years  of  hard 
labor. 

The  convict,  one  of  those  men  who  have  been  in  the  hands 
of  justice  more  than  once,  and  whose  temper  is  apt  at  terrible 
revenge,  had  said  to  the  girl  in  open  court — 

"In  ten  years,  as  sure  as  you  live,  Prudence"  (Europe's 
name  was  Prudence  Servien),  "  I  will  return  to  be  the  death 
of  you,  if  I  am  scragged  for  it." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  187 

The  president  of  the  Court  tried  to  reassure  the  girl  by 
promising  her  the  protection  and  the  care  of  the  law ;  but  the 
poor  child  was  so  terror-stricken  that  she  fell  ill,  and  was  in 
hospital  nearly  a  year.  Justice,  or  call  it  Law,  is  an  abstract 
being,  represented  by  a  collection  of  individuals  who  are  in- 
cessantly changing,  whose  good  intentions  and  memories  are, 
like  themselves,  liable  to  many  vicissitudes.  Courts  and  tri- 
bunals can  do  nothing  to  hinder  crimes  ;  their  business  is  to 
deal  with  them  when  done.  From  this  point  of  view,  a  pre- 
ventive police  would  be  a  boon  to  a  country ;  but  the  mere 
word  police  is  in  these  days  a  bugbear  to  legislators,  who  no 
longer  can  distinguish  between  the  three  words — Government, 
Administration,  and  Law-making.  The  legislator  tends  to 
centralize  everything  in  the  State,  as  if  the  State  could  act. 

The  convict  would  be  sure  always  to  remember  his  victim, 
and  to  avenge  himself  when  Justice  had  ceased  to  think  of 
either  of  them. 

Prudence,  who  instinctively  appreciated  the  danger — in  a 
general  sense,  so  to  speak — left  Valenciennes  and  came  to 
Paris  at  the  age  of  seventeen  to  hide  there.  She  tried  four 
trades,  of  which  the  most  successful  was  that  of  a  "  super  "  at 
a  minor  theatre.  She  was  picked  up  by  Paccard,  and  to  him 
she  told  her  woes.  Paccard,  Jacques  Collin's  henchman  and 
right-hand  man,  spoke  of  this  girl  to  his  master,  and  when  the 
master  needed  a  slave  he  said  to  Prudence — 

"  If  you  will  serve  me  as  the  devil  must  be  served,  I  will 
rid  you  of  Durut." 

Durut  was  the  convict ;  the  Damocles'  sword  hung  over 
Prudence  Servien's  head. 

But  for  these  details,  many  critics  would  have  thought  Eu- 
rope's attachment  somewhat  grotesque.  And  no  one  could 
have  understood  the  startling  announcement  that  Carlos  had 
ready. 

"Yes,  my  girl,  you  can  go  back  to  Valenciennes.  Here, 
read  this." 


188  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

And  he  held  out  to  her  yesterday's  paper,  pointing  to  this 
paragraph — 

"  TOULON. — Yesterday,  Jean  Francois  Durut  was  executed  here.  Early 
in  the  morning  the  garrison,"  etc. 

Prudence  dropped  the  paper ;  her  legs  gave  way  under  the 
weight  of  her  body ;  she  lived  again  ;  for,  to  use  her  own 
words,  she  never  liked  the  taste  of  her  food  since  the  day 
when  Durut  had  threatened  her. 

"You  see,  I  have  kept  my  word.  It  has  taken  four  years 
to  bring  Durut  to  the  scaffold  by  leading  him  into  a  snare. 
Well,  finish  my  job  here,  and  you  will  find  yourself  at  the 
head  of  a  little  country  business  in  your  native  town,  with 
twenty  thousand  francs  of  your  own,  as  Paccard's  wife,  and  I 
will  allow  him  to  be  virtuous  as  a  form  of  pension." 

Europe  picked  up  the  paper  and  read  with  greedy  eyes  all 
the  details,  of  which  for  twenty  years  the  papers  have  never 
been  tired,  as  to  the  death  of  convicted  criminals :  the  im- 
pressive scene,  the  chaplain — who  has  always  converted  the 
victim — the  hardened  criminal  preaching  to  his  fellow-con- 
victs, the  battery  of  guns,  the  convicts  on  their  knees ;  and 
then  the  twaddle  and  reflections  which  never  lead  to  any 
change  in  the  management  of  the  prisons  where  eighteen 
hundred  crimes  are  herded. 

"  We  must  place  Asia  on  the  staff  as  cook  once  more,"  said 
Carlos. 

Asia  came  forward,  not  understanding  Europe's  panto- 
mime. 

"  In  bringing  her  back  here  as  cook,  you  must  begin  by 
giving  the  baron  such  a  dinner  as  he  never  ate  in  his  life," 
he  went  on.  "  Tell  him  that  Asia  has  lost  all  her  money  at 
play,  and  has  taken  service  once  more/  We  shall  not  need 
an  outdoor  servant.  Paccard  shall  be  coachman.  Coach- 
men do  not  leave  their  box,  where  they  are  safe  out  of  the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  189 

way ;  and  he  will  run  less  risk  from  spies.  Madame  must 
turn  him  out  in  a  powdered  wig  and  a  braided  felt  cocked  hat ; 
that  will  alter  his  appearance.  Beside,  I  will  make  him  up." 

"  Are  we  going  to  have  men-servants  in  the  house  ?  "  asked 
Asia  with  a  leer. 

"All  honest  folk,"  said  Carlos. 

"All  soft-heads,"  retorted  the  mulatto. 

"  If  the  baron  takes  a  house,  Paccard  has  a  friend  who  will 
suit  as  the  lodge  porter,"  said  Carlos.  "  Then  we  shall  only 
need  a  footman  and  a  kitchen-maid,  and  you  can  surely  keep 
an  eye  on  the  two  strangers " 

As  Carlos  was  leaving,  Paccard  made  his  appearance. 

"  Wait  a  little  while,  there  are  people  in  the  street,"  said 
the  man. 

This  simple  statement  was  alarming.  Carlos  went  up  to 
Europe's  room,  and  stayed  there  till  Paccard  came  to  fetch 
him,  having  called  a  hackney-coach  that  came  into  the  court- 
yard. Carlos  pulled  down  the  blinds,  'and  was  driven  off  at  a 
pace  that  defied  pursuit. 

Having  reached  the  Faubourg  Saint-Antoine,  he  got  out  at 
a  short  distance  from  a  hackney-coach  stand,  to  which  he  went 
on  foot,  and  thence  returned  to  the  Quai  Malaquais,  escaping 
all  inquiry. 

"  Here,  child,"  said  he  to  Lucien,  showing  him  four  hundred 
bank-notes  for  a  thousand  francs  each,  "  here  is  something  on 
account  for  the  purchase  of  the  estates  of  Rubempre.  We 
will  risk  a  hundred  thousand.  Omnibuses  have  just  been 
started ;  the  Parisians  will  take  to  the  novelty ;  in  three 
months  we  shall  have  trebled  our  capital.  I  know  the  con- 
cern ;  they  will  pay  splendid  dividends  taken  out  of  the 
capital,  to  put  a  head  on  the  shares — an  old  idea  of  Nucin- 
gen's  revived.  If  we  acquire  the  Rubempre  land,  we  shall 
not  have  to  pay  on  the  nail. 

"  You  must  go  and  see  des  Lupeaulx,  and  beg  him  to  give 
you  a  personal  recommendation  to  a  lawyer  named  Desroches, 


190  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

a  cunning  dog,  whom  you  must  call  on  at  his  office.  Get  him 
to  go  to  Rubempre  and  see  how  the  land  lies ;  promise  him 
a  premium  of  twenty  thousand  francs  if  he  manages  to  secure 
you  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year  by  investing  eight  hundred 
thousand  francs  in  land  round  about  the  ruins  of  the  old 
house." 

"  How  you  go  on — on  !  on  !  " 

"  I  am  always  going  on.  This  is  no  time  for  joking.  You 
must  then  invest  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  in  Treasury  bonds, 
so  as  to  lose  no  interest ;  you  may  safely  leave  it  to  Desroches, 
he  is  as  honest  as  he  is  knowing.  That  being  done,  get  off  to 
AngoulSme,  and  persuade  your  sister  and  your  brother-in-law 
to  pledge  themselves  to  a  little  fib  in  the  way  of  business. 
Your  relations  are  to  have  given  you  six  hundred  thousand 
francs  to  promote  your  marriage  with  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu ; 
there  is  no  disgrace  in  that." 

"  We  are  saved  !  "  cried  Lucien,  dazzled. 

"  You  are,  yes  !  "  replied  Carlos.  "  But  even  you  are  not 
safe  till  you  walk  out  of  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin  with  Clotilde 
as  your  wife." 

"And  what  have  you  to  fear?"  said  Lucien,  apparently 
much  concerned  for  his  counselor. 

"Some  inquisitive  souls  are  on  my  track — I  must  assume 
the  manners  of  a  genuine  priest ;  it  is  most  annoying.  The 
devil  will  cease  to  protect  me  if  he  sees  me  with  a  breviary 
under  my  arm." 

At  this  moment  the  Baron  de  Nucingen,  who  was  leaning 
on  his  cashier's  arm,  reached  the  door  of  his  mansion. 

"I  am  ver*  much  afrait,"  said  he,  as  he  went  in,  "  dat  I 
hafe  done  a  bat  day's  vork.  Veil,  we  must  make  it  up  some 
oder  vays." 

"  De  misfortune  is  dat  you  shall  hafe  been  caught,  Mein- 
herr  Baron,"  said  the  worthy  German,  whose  whole  care  was 
for  appearances. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  191 

"  Ja,  my  miss'ess  en  titre  should  be  in  a  position  vordy  of 
me,"  said  this  Louis  XIV.  of  the  counting-house. 

Feeling  sure  that  sooner  or  later  Esther  would  be  his,  the 
baron  was  now  himself  again,  a  masterly  financier.  He  re- 
sumed the  management  of  his  affairs,  and  with  such  effect  that 
his  cashier,  finding  him  in  his  office-room  at  six  o'clock  next 
morning,  verifying  his  securities,  rubbed  his  hands  with  satis- 
faction. 

"  Ah,  ha  !  Meinherr  Baron,  you  shall  hafe  saved  money 
last  night !  "  said  he,  with  a  half-cunning,  half-loutish  German 
grin. 

Though  men  who  are  as  rich  as  the  Baron  de  Nucingen 
have  more  opportunities  than  others  for  losing  money,  they 
also  have  more  chances  of  making  it,  even  when  they  indulge 
their  follies.  Though  the  financial  policy  of  the  house  of 
Nucingen  has  been  explained  elsewhere,  it  may  be  as  well  to 
point  out  that  such  immense  fortunes  are  not  made,  are  not 
built  up,  are  not  increased,  and  are  not  retained  in  the  midst 
of  the  commercial,  political,  and  industrial  revolutions  of  the 
present  day  but  at  the  cost  of  immense  losses,  or,  if  you  choose 
to  view  it  so,  of  heavy  taxes  on  private  fortunes.  Very  little 
newly  created  wealth  is  thrown  into  the  common  treasury  of 
the  world.  Every  fresh  accumulation  represents  some  new 
inequality  in  the  general  distribution  of  wealth.  What  the 
State  exacts  it  makes  some  return  for ;  but  what  a  house  like 
that  of  Nucingen  takes,  it  keeps. 

Such  covert  robbery  escapes  the  law  for  the  reason  which 
would  have  made  a  Jacques  Coll  in  of  Frederick  the  Great,  if, 
instead  of  dealing  with  provinces  by  means  of  battles,  he  had 
dealt  in  smuggled  goods  or  transferable  securities.  The  high 
politics  of  money-making  consist  in  forcing  the  States  of 
Europe  to  issue  loans  at  twenty  or  at  ten  per  cent.,  in  making 
that  twenty  or  ten  per  cent,  by  the  use  of  public  funds,  in 
squeezing  industry  on  a  vast  scale  by  buying  up  raw  materials, 
in  throwing  a  rope  to  the  first  founder  of  a  business  just  to 


192  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

keep  him  above  water  till  his  drowned-out  enterprise  is  safely 
landed— in  short,  in  all  the  great  battles  for  money-getting. 

The  banker,  no  doubt,  like  the  conqueror,  runs  risks ;  but 
there  are  so  few  men  in  a  position  to  wage  this  warfare,  that 
the  sheep  have  no  business  to  meddle.  Such  grand  struggles 
are  between  the  shepherds.  Thus,  as  the  defaulters  are  guilty 
of  having  wanted  to  win  too  much,  very  little  sympathy  is  felt 
as  a  rule  for  the  misfortunes  brought  about  by  the  coalition  of 
the  Nucingens.  If  a  speculator  blows  his  brains  out,  if  a 
stock-broker  bolts,  if  a  lawyer  makes  off  with  the  fortune  of  a 
hundred  families— which  is  far  worse  than  killing  a  man— if  a 
banker  is  insolvent,  all  these  catastrophes  are  forgotten  in 
Paris  in  a  few  months,  and  buried  under  the  oceanic  surges  of 
the  great  city. 

The  colossal  fortunes  of  Jacques  Cceur,  of  the  Medici,  of 
the  Angos  of  Dieppe,  of  the  Auffredis  of  la  Rochelle,  of  the 
Fuggers,  of  the  Tiepolos,  of  the  Corners,  were  honestly  made 
long  ago  by  the  advantages  they  had  over  the  ignorance  of  the 
people  as  to  the  sources  of  precious  products ;  but  nowadays 
geographical  information  has  reached  the  masses,  and  competi- 
tion has  so  effectually  limited  the  profits,  that  every  rapidly 
made  fortune  is  the  result  of  chance,  or  of  a  discovery,  or  of 
some  legalized  robbery.  The  lower  grades  of  mercantile 
enterprise  have  retorted  on  the  perfidious  dealings  of  higher 
commerce,  especially  during  the  last  ten  years,  by  base  adul- 
teration of  the  raw  material.  Wherever  chemistry  is  known, 
wine  is  no  longer  procurable ;  the  vine  industry  is  consequently 
waning.  Manufactured  salt  is  sold  to  avoid  the  excise.  The 
tribunals  are  appalled  by  this  universal  dishonesty.  In  short, 
French  trade  is  regarded  with  suspicion  by  the  whole  world, 
and  England  too  is  fast  being  demoralized. 

With  us  the  mischief  has  its  origin  in  the  political  situation. 
The  Charter  proclaimed  the  reign  of  Money,  and  success  has 
become  the  supreme  consideration  of  an  atheistic  age.  And, 
indeed,  the  corruption  of  the  higher  ranks  is  infinitely  more 


THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  193 

hideous,  in  spite  of  the  dazzling  display  and  specious  argu- 
ments of  wealth,  than  that  ignoble  and  more  personal  corrup- 
tion of  the  inferior  classes,  of  which  certain  details  lend  a 
comic  element — terrible,  if  you  will — to  this  drama.  The 
Government,  always  alarmed  by  a  new  idea,  has  banished 
these  materials  of  modern  comedy  from  the  stage.  The 
citizen  class,  less  liberal  than  Louis  XIV.,  dreads  the  advent 
of  its  "Marriage  de  Figaro,"  forbids  the  appearance  of  a 
political  Tartuffe,  and  certainly  would  not  allow  "Turcaret" 
to  be  represented,  for  Turcaret  is  king.  Consequently,  comedy 
has  to  be  narrated,  and  a  book  is  now  the  weapon — less  swift, 
but  no  more  sure — that  writers  wield. 

In  the  course  of  this  morning,  amid  the  coming  and  going 
of  callers,  orders  to  be  given,  and  brief  interviews,  making 
Nucingen's  private  office  a  sort  of  financial  lobby,  one  of  his 
stock-brokers  announced  to  him  the  disappearance  of  a  member 
of  the  Company,  one  of  the  richest  and  cleverest  too — Jacques 
Falleix,  brother  of  Martin  Falleix,  and  the  successor  of  Jules 
Desmarets.  Jacques  Falleix  was  stock-broker  in  ordinary  to 
the  house  of  Nucingen.  In  concert  with  du  Tillet  and  the 
Kellers,  the  baron  had  plotted  the  ruin  of  this  man  in  cold 
blood,  as  if  it  had  been  the  killing  of  a  Passover  lamb. 

"  He  could  not  holt  on,"  replied  the  baron  quietly. 

Jacques  Falleix  had  done  them  immense  service  in  stock- 
jobbing. During  a  crisis  a  few  months  since  he  had  saved 
the  situation  by  acting  boldly.  But  to  look  for  gratitude  from 
money-lynxes  is  as  vain  as  to  try  to  touch  the  heart  of  the 
wolves  of  the  Ukraine  in  winter. 

"Poor  fellow  !"  said  the  broker.  "He  so  little  antici- 
pated such  a  catastrophe,  that  he  had  furnished  a  little  house 
for  his  mistress  in  the  Rue  Saint-Georges ;  he  has  spent  a 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  in  decorations  and  furniture. 
He  was  so  devoted  to  Madame  du  Val-Noble !  The  poor 
woman  must  give  it  all  up.  And  nothing  is  paid  for." 

"  Goot,  goot !  "  thought  Nucingen,  "  dis  is  de  very  chance 
13 


194  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

to  make  up  for  vat  I  hafe  lost  dis  night.  He  hafe  paid  for 
noting?"  he  asked  his  informant. 

"Why,"  said  the  stock-broker,  "where  would  you  find  a 
tradesman  so  ill-informed  as  to  refuse  credit  to  Jacques  Falleix? 
There  is  a  splendid  cellar  of  wine,  it  would  seem.  By  the 
way,  the  house  is  for  sale ;  he  meant  to  buy  it.  The  lease  is 
in  his  name.  What  a  piece  of  folly  !  Plate,  furniture,  wine, 
carriage-horses,  everything  will  be  valued  in  a  lump,  and  what 
will  the  creditors  get  out  of  it? " 

"  Come  again  to-morrow,"  said  Nucingen.  "I  shall  hafe 
seen  all  dat ;  and  if  it  is  not  a  declared  bankruptcy,  if  tings 
can  be  arranged  and  compromised,  I  shall  tell  you  to  offer 
some  reasonaple  price  for  dat  furniture,  if  I  shall  buy  de 
lease " 

"That  can  be  managed,"  said  his  friend.  "If  you  go 
there  this  morning,  you  will  find  one  of  Falleix's  partners 
there  with  the  tradespeople,  who  want  to  establish  a  first 
claim ;  but  la  Val-Noble  has  their  accounts  made  out  to 
Falleix." 

The  baron  sent  off  one  of  his  clerks  forthwith  to  his  lawyer. 
Jacques  Falleix  had  spoken  to  him  about  this  house,  which 
was  worth  sixty  thousand  francs  at  most,  and  he  wished  to  be 
put  in  possession  of  it  at  once,  so  as  to  avail  himself  of  the 
privileges  of  the  householder. 

The  cashier,  honest  man,  came  to  inquire  whether  his  master 
had  lost  anything  by  Falleix's  bankruptcy. 

"On  de  contrar',  mein  goot  Volfgang,  I  stant  to  vin  ein 
hundert  tousant  francs." 

"How  vas  dat?" 

"Veil,  I  shall  hafe  de  little  house  vat  dat  poor  teufel 
Falleix  should  furnish  for  his  mis'ess  this  year.  I  shall  hafe 
all  dat  for  fifty  tousant  franc  to  de  creditors ;  and  my  notary, 
Maitre  Cardot,  shall  hafe  my  orders  to  buy  de  house,  for  de 
lan'lord  vant  de  money — I  knew  dat,  but  I  hat  lost  mein  head. 
Ver'  soon  my  difine  Esther  shall  life  in  a' little  palace.  I  hafe 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  195 

been  dere  mit  Falleix — it  is  close  to  here.  It  shall  fit  me  like 
aglofe." 

Falleix's  failure  required  the  baron's  presence  at  the  Bourse ; 
but  he  could  not  bear  to  leave  his  house  in  the  Rue  Saint- 
Lazare  without  going  to  the  Rue  Taitbout ;  he  was  already 
miserable  at  having  been  away  from  Esther  for  so  many  hours. 
He  would  have  liked  to  keep  her  at  his  elbow.  The  profits 
he  hoped  to  make  out  of  his  stock-brokers'  plunder  made  the 
former  loss  of  four  hundred  thousand  francs  quite  easy  to 
endure. 

Delighted  to  announce  to  his  "anchel"  that  she  was  to 
move  from  the  Rue  Taitbout  to  the  Rue  Saint-Georges,  where 
she  was  to  have  "  ein  little  palace  "  where  her  memories  would 
no  longer  rise  up  in  antagonism  to  their  happiness,  the  pave- 
ment felt  elastic  under  his  feet ;  he  walked  like  a  young  man 
in  a  young  man's  dream.  As  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
des  Trois  Freres,  in  the  middle  of  his  dream,  and  of  the  road, 
the  baron  beheld  Europe  coming  toward  him,  looking  very 
much  upset. 

"  Vere  shall  you  go  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Well,  monsieur,  I  was  on  my  way  to  you.  You  were 
quite  right  yesterday.  I  see  now  that  poor  madame  had 
better  have  gone  to  prison  for  a  few  days.  But  how  should 
women  understand  money  matters?  When  madame's  credi- 
tors heard  that  she  had  come  home,  they  all  came  down  upon 
us  like  birds  of  prey.  Last  evening,  at  seven  o'clock,  mon- 
sieur, men  came  and  stuck  horrible  posters  up  to  announce  a 
sale  of  furniture  on  Saturday — but  that  is  nothing.  Madame, 
who  is  all  heart,  once  upon  a  time  to  oblige  that  wretch  of  a 
man  you  know " 

"Vat  wretch?" 

"Well,  the  man  she  was  in  love  with,  d'Estourny — well, 
he  was  charming  !  He  was  only  a  gambler " 

"  He  gambled  with  marked  cards  !  " 

"  Well — and  what  do  you  do  at  the  Bourse  ?  "  said  Europe, 


1%  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  But  let  me  go  on.  One  day,  to  hinder  Georges,  as  he  said, 
from  blowing  out  his  brains,  she  pawned  all  her  plate  and  her 
jewels,  which  had  never  been  paid  for.  Now  on  hearing  that 
she  had  given  something  to  one  of  her  creditors,  they  came 
in  a  body  and  made  a  scene.  They  threaten  her  with  the 
police  court — your  angel  in  the  dock !  Is  it  not  enough  to 
make  a  wig  stand  on  end  ?  She  is  bathed  in  tears ;  she  talks 
of  throwing  herself  into  the  river — and  she  will  do  it." 

"If  I  shall  go  to  see  her,  dat  is  goot-by  to  de  Bourse;  an' 
it  is  impossible  but  I  shall  go,  for  I  shall  make  some  money 
for  her — you  shall  compose  her.  I  shall  pay  her  debts ;  I 
shall  go  to  see  her  at  four  o'clock.  But  tell  her,  Eugenie,  dat 
she  shall  lofe  me  a  little " 

"A  little?  A  great  deal!  I  tell  you  what,  monsieur, 
nothing  but  generosity  can  win  a  woman's  heart.  You  would, 
no  doubt,  have  saved  a  hundred  thousand  francs  or  so  by 
letting  her  go  to  prison.  Well,  you  would  never  have  won 
her  heart.  As  she  said  to  me — '  Eugenie,  he  has  been  noble, 
grand — he  has  a  great  soul.'  " 

"  She  hafe  said  dat,  Eugenie  !  "  cried  the  baron. 

"Yes,  monsieur,  to  me,  myself." 

"Here — take  dis  ten  louis." 

"Thank  you.  But  she  is  crying  at  this  moment;  she  has 
been  crying  ever  since  yesterday  as  much  as  a  weeping  Mag- 
dalen could  have  cried  in  six  months.  The  woman  you  love 
is  in  despair,  and  for  debts  that  are  not  even  hers !  Oh ! 
men — they  devour  women  as  women  devour  old  fogies — 
there !  " 

"  Dey  all  is  de  same  !  She  hafe  pledge'  herself.  Vy,  no 
one  shall  ever  pledge  herself.  Tell  her  dat  she  shall  sign 
noting  more.  I  shall  pay;  but  if  she  shall  sign  something 
more— I " 

"What  will  you  do?"  said  Europe  with  an  air. 

"  Mein  Gott !  I  hafe  no  power  over  her.  I  shall  take  de 
management  of  her  little  affairs Dere,  'dere,  go  to  comfort 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  197 

her,  and  you  shall  say  that  in  ein  mont  she  shall  live  in  a  little 
palace." 

"You  have  invested  heavily,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  and  for 
large  interest,  in  a  woman's  heart.  I  tell  you — you  look  to 
me  younger.  I  am  but  a  waiting-maid,  but  I  have  often  seen 
such  a  change.  It  is  happiness — happiness  gives  a  certain 
glow.  If  you  have  spent  a  little  money,  do  not  let  that 
worry  you ;  you  will  see  what  a  good  return  it  will  bring. 
And  I  said  to  madame,  I  told  her  she  would  be  the  lowest  of 
the  low,  a  perfect  hussy,  if  she  did  not  love  you,  for  you  have 
plucked  her  out  of  hell.  When  once  she  has  nothing  on  her 
mind,  you  will  see.  Between  you  and  me,  I  may  tell  you, 
that  night  when  she  cried  so  much — What  is  to  be  said,  we 
value  the  esteem  of  the  man  who  maintains  us — and  she  did 
not  dare  tell  you  everything.  She  wanted  to  fly." 

"To  fly!"  cried  the  baron,  in  dismay  at  the  notion. 
"But  the  Bourse,  the  Bourse  !  Go  'vay,  I  shall  not  come 
in.  But  tell  her  that  I  shall  see  her  at  her  vindow — dat  shall 
gife  me  courage  !  " 

Esther  smiled  at  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  as  he  passed  the 
house,  and  he  went  ponderously  on  his  way,  saying — 

"She  is  ein  anchel !  " 

This  was  how  Europe  had  succeeded  in  achieving  the  im- 
possible. At  about  half-past  two  Esther  had  finished  dressing, 
as  she  was  wont  to  dress  when  she  expected  Lucien  ;  she  was 
looking  charming.  Seeing  this,  Prudence,  looking  out  of  the 
window,  said,  "There  is  monsieur!  " 

The  poor  creature  flew  to  the  window,  thinking  she  should 
see  Lucien  ;  she  saw  Nucingen. 

"  Oh  !  how  cruelly  you  hurt  me  !  "  she  said. 

"There  was  no  other  way  of  getting  you  to  seem  to  be 
gracious  to  a  poor  old  man,  who,  after  all,  is  going  to  pay 
your  debts,"  said  Europe.  "  For  they  are  all  to  be  paid." 

"What  debts?"  said  the  girl,  who  only  cared  to  preserve 
her  love,  which  dreadful  hands  were  scattering  to  the  winds. 


198  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

"  Those  which  Monsieur  Carlos  made  in  your  name." 

"  Why,  here  are  nearly  four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs,"  cried  Esther. 

"And  you  owe  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  more.  But 
the  baron  took  it  all  very  well.  He  is  going  to  remove  you 
from  hence,  and  place  you  in  a  little  palace.  On  my  honor, 
you  are  not  so  badly  off.  In  your  place,  as  you  have  got  on 
the  right  side  of  this  man,  as  soon  as  Carlos  is  satisfied,  I 
should  make  him  give  me  a  house  and  a  settled  income.  You 
are  certainly  the  handsomest  woman  I  ever  saw,  madame,  and 
the  most  attractive,  but  we  so  soon  grow  ugly  !  I  was  fresh 
and  good-looking,  and  look  at  me  !  I  am  twenty-three,  about 
the  same  age  as  madame,  and  I  look  ten  years  older.  An 
illness  is  enough.  Well,  but  when  you  have  a  house  in  Paris 
and  investments,  you  need  never  be  afraid  of  ending  in  the 
streets." 

Esther  had  ceased  to  listen  to  Europe-Eugenie-Prudence 
Servien.  The  will  of  a  man  gifted  with  the  genius  of  corrup- 
tion had  thrown  Esther  back  into  the  mud  with  as  much  force 
as  he  had  used  to  drag  her  out  of  it. 

Those  who  know  love  in  its  infinitude  know  that  those  who 
do  not  accept  its  obligations  do  not  experience  its  pleasures. 
Since  the  scene  in  the  den  in  the  Rue  de  Langlade,  Esther 
had  utterly  forgotten  her  former  existence.  She  had  since 
lived  very  virtuously,  cloistered  by  her  passion.  Hence,  to 
avoid  any  obstacle,  the  skillful  fiend  had  been  clever  enough 
to  lay  such  a  train  that  the  poor  girl,  prompted  by  her  devo- 
tion, had  merely  to  utter  her  consent  to  swindling  actions 
already  done,  or  on  the  point  of  accomplishment.  This  sub- 
tlety, revealing  the  mastery  of  the  tempter,  also  characterized 
the  methods  by  which  he  had  subjugated  Lucien.  He  created 
a  terrible  situation,  dug  a  mine,  filled  it  with  powder,  and  at 
the  critical  moment  said  to  his  accomplice:  "You  have  only 
to  nod,  and  the  whole  will  explode  !  " 

Esther  of  old,  knowing  only  the  morality  peculiar  to  cour- 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  199 

tesans,  thought  all  these  attentions  so  natural,  that  she  meas- 
ured her  rivals  only  by  what  they  could  get  men  to  spend  on 
them.  Ruined  fortunes  are  the  conduct-stripes  of  these  crea- 
tures. Carlos,  in  counting  on  Esther's  memory,  had  not  cal- 
culated wrongly. 

These  tricks  of  warfare,  these  stratagems  employed  a  thou- 
sand times,  not  only  by  these  women,  but  by  spendthrifts  too, 
did  not  disturb  Esther's  mind.  She  felt  nothing  but  her 
personal  degradation  ;  she  loved  Lucien,  she  was  to  be  the 
Baron  de  Nucingen's  mistress  "  by  appointment;  "  this  was 
all  she  thought  of.  The  supposed  Spaniard  might  absorb  the 
earnest-money,  Lucien  might  build  up  his  fortune  with  the 
stones  of  her  tomb,  a  single  night  of  pleasure  might  cost  the 
old  banker  so  many  thousand-franc  notes  more  or  less,  Europe 
might  extract  a  few  hundred  thousand  francs  by  more  or  less 
ingenious  trickery — none  of  these  things  troubled  the  enam- 
ored girl ;  this  alone  was  the  canker  that  ate  into  her  heart. 
For  five  years  she  had  looked  upon  herself  as  being  as  white 
as  an  angel.  She  loved,  she  was  happy,  she  had  never  com- 
mitted the  smallest  infidelity.  This  beautiful  pure  love  was 
now  to  be  defiled. 

There  was,  in  her  mind,  no  conscious  contrasting  of  her 
happy  isolated  past  and  her  foul  future  life.  It  was  neither 
interest  nor  sentiment  that  moved  her,  only  an  indefinable 
and  all-powerful  feeling  that  she  had  been  white  and  was  now 
black,  pure  and  was  now  impure,  noble  and  was  now  ignoble. 
Desiring  to  be  the  ermine,  moral  taint  seemed  to  her  unen- 
durable. And  when  the  baron's  passion  had  threatened  her, 
she  had  really  thought  of  throwing  herself  out  of  the  window. 
In  short,  she  loved  Lucien  wholly,  and  as  women  very  rarely 
love  a  man.  Women  who  say  they  love,  who  often  think 
they  love  best,  dance,  waltz,  and  flirt  with  other  men,  dress 
for  the  world,  and  look  for  a  harvest  of  concupiscent  glances ; 
but  Esther,  without  any  sacrifice,  had  achieved  miracles  of 
true  love.  She  had  loved  Lucien  for  six  years  as  actresses 


200  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

love  and  courtesans — women  who,  having  rolled  in  mire  and 
impurity,  thirst  for  something  noble,  for  the  self-devotion  of 
true  love,  and  who  practice  exclusiveness — the  only  word  for 
an  idea  so  little  known  in  real  life. 

Vanished  nations,  Greece,  Rome,  and  the  East,  have  at  all 
times  kept  women  shut  up  ;  the  woman  who  loves  should  shut 
herself  up.  So  it  may  easily  be  imagined  that  on  quitting  the 
palace  of  her  fancy,  where  this  poem  had  been  enacted,  to 
go  to  this  old  man's  "little  palace,"  Esther  felt  heartsick. 
Urged  by  an  iron  hand,  she  had  found  herself  waist-deep  in 
disgrace  before  she  had  time  to  reflect ;  but  for  the  past  two 
days  she  had  been  reflecting,  and  felt  a  mortal  chill  about  her 
heart. 

At  Europe's  words:  "End  in  the  street,"  she  started  to 
her  feet  and  said — 

"In  the  street?     No,  in  the  Seine  rather." 

"  In  the  Seine  ?  And  what  about  Monsieur  Lucien  ?  "  said 
Europe. 

This  single  word  brought  Esther  to  her  seat  again ;  she  re- 
mained in  her  armchair,  her  eyes  fixed  on  a  rosette  in  the 
carpet,  the  fire  in  her  brain  drying  up  her  tears. 

At  four  o'clock  Nucingen  found  his  angel  lost  in  that  sea 
of  meditations  and  resolutions  whereon  a  woman's  spirit  floats, 
and  whence  she  emerges  with  utterances  that  are  incompre- 
hensible to  those  who  have  not  sailed  it  in  her  convoy. 

"Clear  your  brow,  mein  Schone,"  said  the  baron,  sitting 
down  by  her.  "  You  shall  hafe  no  more  debts — I  shall  ar- 
range mit  Eugenie,  an'  in  ein  mont  you  shall  go  'vay  from 
dese  rooms  and  go  to  dat  little  palace.  Vat  a  pretty  hant. 
Gife  it  me  dat  I  shall  kiss  it."  Esther  gave  him  her  hand  as 
a.  dog  gives  a  paw.  "  Ach,  ja  !  You  shall  gife  de  hant,  but 
not  de  heart,  and  it  is  dat  heart  I  lofe  !  " 

The  words  were  spoken  with  such  sincerity  of  accent  that 
poor  Esther  looked  at  the  old  man  with  a  compassion  in  her 
eyes  that  almost  maddened  him.  Lovers,  like  martyrs,  feel  a 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  201 

brotherhood  in  their  sufferings  !  Nothing  in  the  world  gives 
such  a  sense  of  kindred  as  community  of  sorrow. 

"  Poor  man  !  "  said  she,  "  he  really  loves." 

As  he  heard  the  words,  misunderstanding  their  meaning, 
the  baron  turned  pale,  the  blood  tingled  in  his  veins,  he 
breathed  the  air  of  heaven.  At  his  age  a  millionaire,  for  such 
a  sensation,  will  pay  as  much  gold  as  a  woman  can  ask. 

"I  lofe  you  like  vat  I  lofe  my  daughter,"  said  he.  "An* 
I  feel  dere  " — and  he  laid  her  hand  over  his  heart — "  dat  I 
shall  not  bear  to  see  you  any  ting  but  happy." 

"  If  you  would  only  be  a  father  to  me,  I  would  love  you 
very  much ;  I  would  never  leave  you  ;  and  you  would  see  that 
I  am  not  a  bad  woman,  not  grasping  or  greedy,  as  I  must 
seem  to  you  now " 

"  You  hafe  done  some  little  follies,"  said  the  baron,  "  like 
all  dose  pretty  vomen — dat  is  all.  Say  no  more  about  dat. 
It  is  our  pusiness  to  make  money  for  you.  Be  happy  !  I 
shall  be  your  fater  for  some  days  yet,  for  I  know  I  must  make 
you  accustom'  to  my  old  carcase." 

"Really!"  she  exclaimed,  springing  on  to  Nucingen's 
knees,  and  clinging  to  him  with  her  arm  round  his  neck. 

"Really  !  "  repeated  he,  trying  to  force  a  smile. 

She  kissed  his  forehead ;  she  believed  in  an  impossible 
combination — she  might  remain  untouched  and  see  Lucien. 

She  was  so  coaxing  to  the  banker  that  she  was  La  Torpille 
once  more.  She  fairly  bewitched  the  old  man,  who  promised 
to  be  a  father  to  her  for  forty  days.  Those  forty  days  were 
to  be  employed  in  acquiring  and  arranging  the  house  in  the 
Rue  Saint-Georges. 

When  he  was  in  the  street  again,  as  he  went  home,  the 
baron  said  to  himself:  "  I  am  an  old  flat." 

But  though  in  Esther's  presence  he  was  a  mere  child,  away 
from  her  he  resumed  his  lynx's  skin ;  just  as  the  gambler 
(in  "  le  Joueur  ")  becomes  affectionate  to  Angelique  when  he 
has  not  a  Hard. 


202  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"A  half  a  million  francs  I  hafe  paid,  and  I  hafe  not  yet 
seen  vat  her  leg  is  like.  Dat  is  too  silly !  but,  happily, 
nobody  shall  hafe  known  it !  "  said  he  to  himself  three  weeks 
after. 

And  he  made  great  resolutions  to  come  to  the  point  with 
the  woman  who  had  cost  him  so  dear;  then,  in  Esther's 
presence  once  more,  he  spent  all  the  time  he  could  spare  her 
in  making  up  for  the  roughness  of  his  first  words. 

"After  all,"  said  he,  at  the  end  of  a  month,  "I  cannot  be 
de  fater  eternal !  " 

Toward  the  end  of  the  month  of  December,  1829,  just  be- 
fore installing  Esther  in  the  house  in  the  Rue  Saint-Georges, 
the  baron  begged  du  Tillet  to  take  Florine  there,  that  she 
might  see  whether  everything  was  suitable  to  Nucingen's  for- 
tune, and  if  the  description  of  "a  little  palace"  were  duly 
realized  by  the  artists  commissioned  to  make  the  cage  worthy 
of  the  bird. 

Every  device  known  to  luxury  before  the  Revolution  of 
1830  made  this  residence  a  masterpiece  of  taste.  Grindot 
the  architect  considered  it  his  greatest  achievement  as  a 
decorator.  The  staircase,  which  had  been  reconstructed  of 
marble,  the  judicious  use  of  stucco  ornament,  textiles,  and 
gilding,  the  smallest  details  as  much  as  the  general  effect, 
outdid  everything  of  the  kind  left  in  Paris  from  the  time  of 
Louis  XV. 

"This  is  my  dream!  This  and  virtue!"  said  Florine 
with  a  smile.  "  And  for  whom  are  you  spending  all  this 
money?"  she  asked  Nucingen.  "A  virgin  sent  down  from 
heaven?" 

"  For  a  voman  vat  is  going  up  there,"  replied  the  baron. 

"A  way  of  playing  Jupiter?"  replied  the  actress.  "And 
when  is  she  on  show  ?  ' ' 

"On  the  day  of  the  house-warming,"  cried  du  Tillet. 

"Not  before  dat,"  said  the  baron. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  208 

"  My  word,  how  we  must  lace  and  brush  and  fig  ourselves 
out,"  Florine  went  on.  "  What  a  dance  the  women  will  lead 
their  dressmakers  and  hairdressers  for  that  evening's  fun  ! 
And  when  is  it  to  be?" 

"  Dat  is  not  for  me  to  say." 

"What  a  woman  she  must  be!"  cried  Florine.  "How 
much  I  should  like  to  see  her !  " 

"An'  so  should  I,"  answered  the  baron  artlessly. 

"What !  is  everything  new  together — the  house,  the  furni- 
ture, and  the  woman?" 

"Even  the  banker,"  said  du  Tiller,  "for  my  old  friend 
seems  to  me  quite  young  again." 

"Well,  he  must  go  back  to  his  twentieth  year,"  said  Flor- 
ine ;  "  at  any  rate,  for  once." 

In  the  early  days  of  1830  everybody  in  Paris  was  talking 
of  Nucingen's  passion  and  the  outrageous  splendor  of  his 
house.  The  poor  baron,  pointed  at,  laughed  at,  and  fuming 
with  rage,  as  may  easily  be  imagined,  took  it  into  his  head 
that  on  the  occasion  of  giving  the  house-warming  he  would  at 
the  same  time  get  rid  of  his  paternal  disguise,  and  get  the 
price  of  so  much  generosity.  Always  circumvented  by  La 
Torpille,  he  determined  to  treat  of  their  union  by  corre- 
spondence, so  as  to  win  from  her  an  autograph  promise. 
Bankers  have  no  faith  in  anything  less  than  a  promissory 
note. 

So  one  morning  early  in  the  year  he  rose  early,  locked 
himself  in  his  room,  and  composed  the  following  letter  in 
very  good  French  ;  for  though  he  spoke  the  language  abomi- 
nably, he  could  write  it  very  well : 

"  DEAR  ESTHER,  flower  of  my  thoughts  and  the  only  joy 
of  my  life,  when  I  told  you  that  I  loved  you  as  I  love  my 
daughter,  I  deceived  you,  I  deceived  myself.  I  only  wished 
to  express  the  sacredness  of  my  sentiments,  which  are  unlike 
those  felt  by  other  men,  in  the  first  place,  because  I  am  an 


204  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

old  man,  and  also  because  I  have  never  loved  till  now.  I  love 
you  so  much,  that  if  you  cost  me  my  fortune  I  should  not 
love  you  the  less. 

"Be  just !  Most  men  would  not,  like  me,  have  seen  the 
angel  in  you ;  I  have  never  even  glanced  at  your  past.  I  love 
you  both  as  I  love  my  daughter  Augusta  and  as  I  might  love 
my  wife,  if  my  wife  could  have  loved  me.  Since  the  only 
excuse  for  an  old  man's  love  is  that  he  should  be  happy,  ask 
yourself  if  I  am  not  playing  a  too  ridiculous  part.  I  have 
taken  you  to  be  the  consolation  and  joy  of  my  declining  days. 
You  know  that  till  I  die  you  will  be  as  happy  as  a  woman  can 
be ;  and  you  know,  too,  that  after  my  death  you  will  be  rich 
enough  to  be  the  envy  of  many  women.  In  every  stroke  of 
business  I  have  effected  since  I  have  had  the  happiness  of 
your  acquaintance,  your  share  is  set  apart,  and  you  have  a 
standing  account  with  Nucingen's  bank.  In  a  few  days  you 
will  move  into  a  house  which,  sooner  or  later,  will  be  your 
own  if  you  like  it.  Now,  plainly,  will  you  still  receive  me 
'  then  as  a  father,  or  will  you  make  me  happy  ? 

"  Forgive  me  for  writing  so  frankly,  but  when  I  am  with 
you  I  lose  all  courage  ;  I  feel  too  keenly  that  you  are  indeed 
my  mistress,  my  master ;  I  have  no  wish  to  hurt  you  ;  I  only 
want  to  tell  you  how  much  I  suffer,  and  how  hard  it  is  to  wait 
at  my  age,  when  every  day  takes  with  it  some  hopes  and  some 
pleasures.  Beside,  the  delicacy  of  my  conduct  is  a  guarantee 
of  the  sincerity  of  my  intentions.  Have  I  ever  behaved  as 
your  creditor  ?  You  are  like  a  citadel,  and  I  am  not  a  young 
man.  In  answer  to  my  appeals,  you  say  my  wishes  threaten 
your  life,  and  when  I  hear  you,  you  make  me  believe  it ;  but 
here  I  sink  into  dark  melancholy  and  doubts  dishonorable  to 
us  both.  You  seemed  to  me  as  sweet  and  innocent  as  you  are 
lovely;  but  you  insist  on  destroying  my  convictions.  Ask 
yourself!  You  tell  me  you  bear  a  passion  in  your  heart,  an 
indomitable  passion,  but  you  refuse  to  tell  me,the  name  of  the 
man  you  love.  Is  this  natural  ? 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  205 

"You  have  turned  a  fairly  strong  man  into  an  incredibly 
weak  one.  You  see  what  I  have  come  to ;  I  am  induced  to 
ask  you  at  the  end  of  five  months  what  future  hope  there  is 
for  my  passion.  Again,  I  must  know  what  part  I  am  to  play 
at  the  opening  of  your  house.  Money  is  nothing  to  me  when 
it  is  spent  for  you ;  I  will  not  be  so  absurd  as  to  make  a  merit 
to  you  of  this  contempt ;  but  though  my  love  knows  no 
limits,  my  fortune  is  limited,  and  I  care  for  it  only  for  your 
sake.  Well,  if  by  giving  you  everything  I  possess  I  might, 
as  a  poor  man,  win  your  affection,  I  would  rather  be  poor  and 
loved  than  rich  and  scorned  by  you. 

"You  have  altered  me  so  completely,  my  dear  Esther,  that 
no  one  knows  me ;  I  paid  ten  thousand  francs  for  a  picture  by 
Joseph  Bridau  because  you  told  me  that  he  was  clever  and 
unappreciated.  I  give  every  beggar  I  meet  five  francs  in  your 
name.  Well,  and  what  does  the  poor  old  man  ask,  who  regards 
himself  as  your  debtor  when  you  do  him  the  honor  of  accept- 
ing anything  he  can  give  you  ?  He  asks  only  for  a  hope — and 
what  a  hope,  good  God  !  Is  it  not  rather  the  certainty  of 
never  having  anything  from  you  but  what  my  passion  may 
seize  ?  The  fire  in  my  heart  will  abet  your  cruel  deceptions. 
You  find  me  ready  to  submit  to  every  condition  you  can  im- 
pose on  my  happiness,  on  my  few  pleasures  ;  but  promise  me 
at  least  that  on  the  day  when  you  take  possession  of  your 
house  you  will  accept  the  heart  and  service  of  him  who,  for 
the  rest  of  his  days,  must  sign  himself  your  slave, 

"FREDERIC   DE   NuCINGEN." 

"Faugh!  how  he  bores  me — this  money-bag!"  cried 
Esther,  the  courtesan  once  more.  She  took  a  small  sheet  of 
notepaper  and  wrote  all  over  it,  as  close  as  it  could  go,  Scribe's 
famous  phrase,  which  has  become  a  proverb:  "  Prenez  mon 
ours." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Esther,  overcome  by  remorse, 
wrote  the  following  letter  : 


206  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"MONSIEUR  LE  BARON: — 

"  Pay  no  heed  to  the  note  you  have  just  received  from  me; 
I  had  relapsed  into  the  folly  of  my  youth.  Forgive,  mon- 
sieur, a  poor  girl  who  ought  to  be  your  slave.  I  never  more 
keenly  felt  the  degradation  of  my  position  than  on  the  day 
when  I  was  handed  over  to  you.  You  have  paid  ;  I  owe  my- 
self to  you.  There  is  nothing  more  sacred  than  a  debt  of 
dishonor.  I  have  no  right  to  compound  it  by  throwing  my- 
self into  the  Seine. 

"A  debt  can  always  be  discharged  in  that  dreadful  coin 
which  is  good  only  to  the  debtor ;  you  will  find  me  yours  to 
command.  I  will  pay  off  in  one  night  all  the  sums  for  which 
that  fatal  hour  has  been  mortgaged  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  such 
an  hour  with  me  is  worth  millions — all  the  more  because  it 
will  be  the  only  one,  the  last.  I  shall  then  have  paid  the 
debt,  and  may  get  away  from  life.  A  good  woman  has  a 
chance  of  restoration  after  a  fall  \  but  we,  the  like  of  us,  fall 
too  low. 

"  My  determination  is  so  fixed  that  I  beg  you  will  keep  this 
letter  in  evidence  of  the  cause  of  death  of  her  who  remains, 
for  one  day,  your  servant,  ESTHER." 

Having  sent  this  letter,  Esther  felt  a  pang  of  regret.  Ten 
minutes  after  she  wrote  a  third  note,  as  follows  : 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  baron — it  is  I  once  more.  I  did  not 
mean  either  to  make  game  of  you  or  to  wound  you ;  I  only 
want  you  to  reflect  on  this  simple  argument :  If  we  were  to 
continue  in  the  position  toward  each  other  of  father  and 
daughter,  your  pleasure  would  be  small,  but  it  would  be  en- 
during. If  you  insist  on  the  terms  of  the  bargain,  you  will 
live  to  mourn  for  me. 

"I  will  trouble  you  no  more:  the  day  when  you  shall 
choose  pleasure  rather  than  happiness  will  have  no  morrow  for 
me.  Your  daughter,  ESTHER." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  207 

On  receiving  the  first  letter,  the  baron  fell  into  a  cold  fury 
such  as  a  millionaire  may  die  of;  he  looked  at  himself  in  the 
glass  and  rang  the  bell. 

"An  hot  bat  for  mein  feet,"  said  he  to  his  new  valet. 

While  he  was  sitting  with  his  feet  in  the  bath,  the  second 
letter  came ;  he  read  it,  and  fainted  away.  He  was  carried 
to  bed. 

When  the  banker  recovered  consciousness,  Madame  de 
Nucingen  was  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  The  hussy  is  right !  "  said  she.  "  Why  do  you  try  to  buy 
love  ?  Is  it  to  be  bought  in  the  market  ?  Let  me  see  your 
letter  to  her." 

The  baron  gave  her  sundry  rough  drafts  he  had  made ; 
Madame  de  Nucingen  read  them,  and  smiled.  Then  came 
Esther's  third  letter. 

"She  is  a  wonderful  girl!  "  cried  the  baroness,  when  she 
had  read  it. 

"Vat  shall  I  do,  montame?"  asked  the  baron  of  his  wife. 

"Wait." 

"  Wait  ?     But  nature  is  pitiless !  "  he  cried. 

"Look  here,  my  dear,  you  have  been  admirably  kind  to 
me,"  said  Delphine ;  "I  will  give  you  some  good  advice." 

"You  are  a  ver'  goot  voman,"  said  he.  "Ven  you  hafe 
any  debts  I  shall  pay  dera." 

"Your  state  on  receiving  these  letters  touches  a  woman  far 
more  than  the  spending  of  millions,  or  than  all  the  letters  you 
could  write,  however  fine  they  may  be.  Try  to  let  her  know 
it,  indirectly ;  perhaps  she  will  be  yours  !  And — have  no 
scruples,  she  will  not  die  of  that,"  added  she,  nodding  and 
looking  keenly  at  her  husband. 

But  Madame  de  Nucingen  knew  nothing  whatever  of  the 
nature  of  such  women. 

"Vat  a  defer  voman  is  Montame  de  Nucingen  !  "  said  the 
baron  to  himself  when  his  wife  had  left  him. 

Still,  the  more  the  baron  admired  the  subtlety  of  his  wife's 


208  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

counsel,  the  less  could  he  see  how  he  might  act  upon  it ;  and 
he  not  only  felt  that  he  was  stupid,  but  he  told  himself  so. 

The  stupidity  of  wealthy  men,  though  it  is  almost  prover- 
bial, is  only  comparative.  The  faculties  of  the  mind,  like  the 
dexterity  of  the  limbs,  need  exercise.  The  dancer's  strength 
is  in  his  feet  ;  the  blacksmith's  in  his  arms ;  the  market-por- 
ter's back  is  trained  to  carry  loads;  the  singer  works  his 
larynx  ;  and  the  pianist  hardens  his  wrist.  A  banker  is  prac- 
ticed in  business  matters ;  he  studies  and  plans  them,  and 
pulls  the  wires  of  various  interests,  just  as  a  playwright  trains 
his  intelligence  in  combining  situations,  studying  his  actors, 
giving  life  to  his  dramatic  figures. 

We  should  no  more  look  for  powers  of  conversation  in  the 
Baron  de  Nucingen  than  for  the  imagery  of  a  poet  in  the 
brain  of  a  mathematician.  How  many  poets  occur  in  an  age, 
who  are  either  good  prose  writers,  or  as  witty  in  the  inter- 
course of  daily  life  as  Madame  Cornuel  ?  Buffon  was  dull 
company ;  Newton  was  never  in  love  ;  Lord  Byron  loved  no- 
body but  himself;  Rousseau  was  gloomy  and  half  crazy;  La 
Fontaine  absent-minded.  Human  energy,  equally  distributed, 
produces  dolts,  mediocrity  in  all;  unequally  bestowed  it  gives 
rise  to  those  incongruities  to  whom  the  name  of  genius  is 
given,  and  which,  if  we  could  only  see  them,  would  look  like 
deformities.  The  same  law  governs  the  body ;  perfect  beauty 
is  generally  allied  with  coldness  or  silliness.  Though  Pascal 
was  both  a  great  mathematician  and  a  great  writer,  though 
Beaumarchais  was  a  good  man  of  business,  and  Zamet  a  pro- 
found courtier,  these  rare  exceptions  prove  the  general  prin- 
ciple of  the  specialization  of  brain  faculties. 

Within  the  sphere  of  speculative  calculations  the  banker 
put  forth  as  much  intelligence  and  skill,  finesse  and  mental 
power,  as  a  practiced  diplomatist  expends  on  national  affairs. 
If  he  were  equally  remarkable  outside  his  office,  the  banker 
would  be  a  great  man.  Nucingen  made  one-  with  the  Prince 
de  Ligne,  with  Mazarin  or  with  Diderot,  is  a  human  formula 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  209 

that  is  almost  inconceivable,  but  which  has  nevertheless  been 
known  as  Pericles,  Aristotle,  Voltaire,  and  Napoleon.  The 
splendor  of  the  Imperial  crown  must  not  blind  us  to  the  merits 
of  the  individual ;  the  Emperor  was  charming,  well  informed, 
and  witty. 

Monsieur  de  Nucingen,  a  banker  and  nothing  more,  having 
no  inventiveness  outside  his  business,  like  most  bankers,  had 
no  faith  in  anything  but  sound  security.  In  matters  of  art 
he  had  the  good  sense  to  go,  cash  in  hand,  to  experts  in  every 
branch,  and  had  recourse  to  the  best  architect,  the  best  sur- 
geon, the  greatest  connoisseur  in  pictures  or  statues,  the  clev- 
erest lawyer,  when  he  wished  to  build  a  house,  to  attend  to 
his  health,  to  purchase  a  work  of  art  or  an  estate.  But  as 
there  are  no  recognized  experts  in  intrigue,  no  connoisseurs 
in  love  affairs,  a  banker  finds  himself  in  difficulties  when  he  is 
in  love,  and  much  puzzled  as  to  the  management  of  a  woman. 
So  Nucingen  could  think  of  no  better  method  than  that  he 
had  hitherto  pursued — to  give  a  sum  of  money  to  some  Fron- 
tin,  male  or  female,  to  act  and  think  for  him. 

Madame  de  Saint-Esteve  alone  could  carry  out  the  plan 
imagined  by  the  baroness.  Nucingen  bitterly  regretted  having 
quarreled  with  the  odious  old  clothes-seller.  However,  feel- 
ing confident  of  the  attractions  of  his  cash-box  and  the  sooth- 
ing documents  signed  "Garat,"  he  rang  for  his  man  and  told 
him  to  inquire  for  the  repulsive  widow  in  the  Rue  Saint-Marc, 
and  desire  her  to  come  to  see  him. 

In  Paris  extremes  are  made  to  meet  by  passion.  Vice  is 
constantly  binding  the  rich  to  the  poor,  the  great  to  the  mean. 
The  Empress  consults  Mademoiselle  Lenormand ;  the  fine 
gentleman  in  every  age  can  always  find  a  Ramponneau. 

The  man  returned  within  two  hours. 

"  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  he,  "  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve 
is  ruined." 

"Ah  !   so  much  de  better  !  "  cried  the  baron  in  glee.     "  I 
shall  hafe  her  safe  den." 
14 


210  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  The  good  woman  is  given  to  gambling,  it  would  seem," 
the  valet  went  on.  "  And,  moreover,  she  is  under  the  thumb 
of  a  third-rate  actor  in  a  suburban  theatre,  whom,  for  de- 
cency's sake,  she  calls  her  godson.  She  is  a  first-rate  cook,  it 
would  seem,  and  wants  a  place." 

"Dose  teufel  of  geniuses  of  de  common  people  hafe  alvays 
ten  vays  of  making  money,  and  ein  dozen  vays  of  spending 
it,"  said  the  baron  to  himself,  quite  unconscious  that  Panurge 
had  thought  the  same  thing. 

He  sent  his  servant  off  in  quest  of  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve, 
who  did  not  come  till  the  next  day.  Being  questioned  by 
Asia,  the  servant  revealed  to  this  female  spy  the  terrible  effects 
of  the  notes  written  to  Monsieur  le  Baron  by  his  mistress. 

"Monsieur  must  be  desperately  in  love  with  the  woman," 
said  he  in  conclusion,  "  for  he  was  very  near  dying.  For 
my  part,  I  advised  him  never  to  go  back  to  her,  for  he  will  be 
wheedled  over  at  once.  A  woman  who  has  already  cost  Mon- 
sieur le  Baron  five  hundred  thousand  francs,  they  say,  without 
counting  what  he  has  spent  on  the  house  in  the  Rue  Saint- 
Georges  !  But  the  woman  cares  for  money,  and  for  money 
only.  As  madame  came  out  of  monsieur's  room,  she  said 
with  a  laugh :  '  If  this  goes  on,  that  slut  will  make  a  widow 
of  me!'" 

"The  devil!  "  cried  Asia;  "it  will  never  do  to  kill  the 
goose  that  lays  the  golden  eggs." 

"Monsieur  le  Baron  has  no  hope  now  but  in  you,"  said 
the  valet. 

"Ah!  The  fact  is  I  do  know  how  to  make  a  woman 
come " 

"  Well,  walk  in,"  said  the  man,  bowing  to  such  occult 
powers. 

"Well,"  said  the  false  Saint-Esteve,  going  into  the  suf- 
ferer's room  with  an  abject  air,  "  Monsieur  le  Baron  has  met 
with  some  little  difficulties  ?  What  can  ypu  expect  ?  Every- 
body is  open  to  attack  on  his  weak  side.  Dear  me,  I  have 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  211 

had  my  troubles  too.  Within  two  months  the  wheel  of  for- 
tune has  turned  upside  down  for  me.  Here  I  am  looking  out 
for  a  place !  We  have  neither  of  us  been  very  wise.  If 
Monsieur  le  Baron  would  take  me  as  a  cook  to  Madame 
Esther,  I  would  be  the  most  devoted  of  slaves.  I  should 
be  useful  to  you,  monsieur,  to  keep  an  eye  on  Eugenie  and 
madame. ' ' 

"Dere  is  no  hope  of  dat,"  said  the  baron.  "I  cannot 
succeet  in  being  de  master,  I  am  let  such  a  tance  as " 

"As  a  top,"  Asia  put  in.  "Well,  you  have  made  others 
dance,  daddy,  and  the  little  slut  has  got  you,  and  is  making 
a  fool  of  you.  Heaven  is  just !  " 

"Just?"  said  the  baron.  "I  hafe  not  sent  for  you  to 
preach  to  me " 

"  Pooh,  my  boy !  A  little  moralizing  breaks  no  bones. 
It  is  the  salt  of  life  to  the  like  of  us,  as  vice  is  to  your  bigots. 
Come,  have  you  been  generous?  You  have  paid  her  debts?" 
queried  Asia. 

"  Ja,"  said  the  baron  lamentably. 

"  That  is  well ;  and  you  have  taken  her  things  out  of  pawn, 
and  that  is  better.  But  you  must  see  that  it  is  not  enough. 
All  rhis  gives  her  no  occupation,  and  these  creatures  love  to 
cut  a  dash " 

"  I  shall  hafe  a  surprise  for  her,  Rue  Saint-Georches — she 
knows  dat,"  said  the  baron.  "But  I  shall  not  be  made  a 
fool  of." 

"Very  well  then,  let  her  go." 

"  I  am  only  afrait  dat  she  shall  let  me  go !  "  cried  the 
baron. 

"And  we  want  our  money's  worth,  my  boy,"  replied 
Asia.  "  Listen  to  me.  We  have  fleeced  the  public  of  some 
millions,  my  little  friend  ?  Twenty-five  millions  I  am  told 
you  possess." 

The  baron  could  not  suppress  a  smile. 

"Well,  you  must  let  one  go." 


212  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  I  shall  let  one  go,  but  as  soon  as  I  shall  let  one  go,  I  shall 
hafe  to  give  still  another. ' ' 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  replied  Asia.  "You  will  not  say  B 
for  fear  of  having  to  go  on  to  Z.  Still,  Esther  is  a  good 
girl " 

"A  ver'  honest  girl,"  cried  the  banker.  "An'  she  is 
ready  to  submit;  but  only  as  in  payment  of  a  debt." 

"In  short,  she  does  not  want  to  be  your  mistress;  she  feels 
an  aversion.  Well,  and  I  understand  it ;  the  child  has  always 
done  just  what  she  pleased.  When  a  girl  has  never  known  any 
but  charming  young  men,  she  cannot  take  to  an  old  one. 
You  are  not  handsome;  you  are  as  big  as  Louis  XVIII.,  and 
rather  dull  company,  as  all  men  are  who  try  to  cajole  fortune 
instead  of  devoting  themselves  to  women.  Well,  if  you  don't 
think  six  hundred  thousand  francs  too  much,"  said  Asia,  "I 
pledge  myself  to  make  her  whatever  you  can  wish." 

"Six  hundert  tousant  franc!"  cried  the  baron,  with  a 
start.  "  Esther  is  to  cost  me  a  million  to  begin  with  !  " 

"  Happiness  is  surely  worth  sixteen  hundred  thousand  francs, 
you  old  sinner.  You  must  know,  men  in  these  days  have 
certainly  spent  more  than  one  or  two  millions  on  a  mistress. 
I  even  know  women  who  have  cost  men  their  lives,  for  whom 
heads  have  rolled  into  the  basket.  You  knew  the  doctor 
who  poisoned  his  friend  ?  He  wanted  the  money  to  gratify 
a  woman." 

"  Ja,  I  know  all  dat.  But  if  I  am  in  lofe,  I  am  not  ein 
idiot,  at  least  vile  I  am  here ;  but  if  I  shall  see  her,  I  shall  gife 

her  my  pocket-book " 

|r      "Well,   listen,   Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  Asia,  assuming 
^the  attitude  of  a  Semiramis.     "You  have  been  squeezed  dry 
enough  already.     Now,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Saint-Esteve — 
in  the  way  of  business,  of  course — I  will  stand  by  you." 

"Goot,  I  shall  repay  you." 

"  I  believe  you,  my  boy,  for  I  have  shown  you  that  I  know 
how  to  be  revenged.  Beside,  I  tell  you  this,  daddy,  I  know 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  213 

how  to  snuff  out  your  Madame  Esther  as  you  would  snuff  a 
candle.  And  I  know  my  lady !  When  the  little  hussy  has 
once  made  you  happy,  she  will  be  even  more  necessary  to 
you  than  she  is  at  this  moment.  You  paid  me  well ;  you  have 
allowed  yourself  to  be  fooled,  but,  after  all,  you  have  forked 
out.  I  have  fulfilled  my  part  of  the  agreement,  haven't  I  ? 
Well,  look  here,  I  will  make  a  bargain  with  you." 

"Let  me  hear." 

"  You  shall  get  me  the  place  as  cook  to  madame,  engage 
me  for  ten  years,  and  pay  the  last  five  in  advance — what  is 
that  ?  Just  a  little  earnest-money  !  When  once  I  am  about 
madame,  I  can  bring  her  to  these  terms.  Of  course,  you 
must  first  order  her  a  lovely  dress  from  Madame  Auguste,  who 
knows  her  style  and  taste ;  and  order  the  new  carriage  to  be 
at  the  door  at  four  o'clock.  After  the  Bourse  closes,  go  to 
her  rooms  and  take  her  for  a  little  drive  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne.  Well,  by  that  act  the  woman  proclaims  herself 
your  mistress;  she  has  advertised  herself  to  the  eyes  and 
knowledge  of  all  Paris:  A  hundred  thousand  francs.  You 
must  dine  with  her — I  know  how  to  cook  such  a  dinner ! 
You  must  take  her  to  the  play,  to  the  Varietes,  to  a  stage-box, 
and  then  all  Paris  will  say, '  There  is  that  old  rascal  Nucingen 
with  his  mistress.'  It  is  very  flattering  to  know  that  such 
things  are  said.  Well,  all  this,  for  I  am  not  grasping,  is 
included  for  the  first  hundred  thousand  francs.  In  a  week, 
by  such  conduct,  you  will  have  made  some  way " 

"  But  I  shall  hafe  paid  ein  hundert  tousant  franc." 

"In  the  course  of  the  second  week,"  Asia  went  on,  as 
though  she  had  not  heard  this  lamentable  ejaculation, 
"  madame,  tempted  by  these  preliminaries,  will  have  made 
up  her  mind  to  leave  her  little  apartments  and  move  to  the 
house  you  are  giving  her.  Your  Esther  will  have  seen  the 
world  again,  have  found  her  old  friends;  she  will  wish  to 
shine  and  do  the  honors  of  her  palace — it  is  in  the  nature  of 
things:  Another  hundred  thousand  francs!  By  heaven! 


214  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

you  are  at  home  there,  Esther  compromised — she  must  be 
yours.  The  rest  is  a  mere  trifle,  in  which  you  must  play  the 
principal  part,  old  elephant.  (How  wide  the  monster  opens 
his  eyes!)  Well,  I  will  undertake  that  too:  Four  hundred 
thousand — and  that,  my  fine  fellow,  you  need  not  pay  till  the 
day  after.  What  do  you  think  of  that  for  honesty  ?  I  have 
more  confidence  in  you  than  you  have  in  me.  If  I  persuade 
madame  to  show  herself  as  your  mistress,  to  compromise  her- 
self, to  take  every  gift  you  offer  her — perhaps  this  very  day — 
you  will  believe  that  I  am  capable  of  inducing  her  to  throw 
open  the  pass  of  the  Great  Saint  Bernard.  And  it  is  a  hard 
job,  I  can  tell  you;  it  will  take  as  much  pulling  to  get  your 
artillery  through  as  it  took  the  first  Consul  to  get  over  the 
Alps." 

'•'But  vy?" 

"  Her  heart  is  full  of  love,  old  shaver,  rasibus,  as  you  say 
who  know  Latin,"  replied  Asia.  "She  thinks  herself  the 
Queen  of  Sheba,  because  she  has  washed  herself  in  sacrifices 
made  for  her  lover — an  idea  that  that  sort  of  woman  gets  into 
her  head  !  Well,  well,  old  fellow,  we  must  be  just.  It  is 
fine  !  That  baggage  would  die  of  grief  at  being  your  mis- 
tress— I  really  should  not  wonder.  But  what  I  trust  to,  and 
I  tell  you  to  give  you  courage,  is  that  there  is  good  in  the 
girl  at  bottom." 

"  You  hafe  a  genius  for  corruption,"  said  the  baron,  who 
had  listened  to  Asia  in  admiring  silence,  "just  as  I  hafe  de 
knack  of  de  banking." 

"Then  it  is  settled,  my  pigeon?"  said  Asia. 

"  Done  for  fifty  tousant  franc  insteat  of  ein  hundert  tou- 
sant !  An'  I  shall  give  you  fife  hundert  tousant  de  day  after 
my  triumph." 

"Very  good,  I  will  set  to  work,"  said  Asia.  "And  you 
may  come,  monsieur,"  she  added  respectfully.  "  You  will 
find  madame  as  soft  already  as  a  cat's  -back,  and  perhaps 
inclined  to  make  herself  pleasant." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  215 

"Go,  go,  my  goot  voman,"  said  the  banker,  rubbing  his 
hands. 

And  after  seeing  the  horrible  mulatto  out  of  the  house,  he 
said  to  himself — 

"  How  vise  it  is  to  hafe  much  money." 

He  sprang  out  of  bed,  went  down  to  his  office,  and 
resumed  the  conduct  of  his  immense  business  with  a  light 
heart. 

Nothing  could  be  more  fatal  to  Esther  than  the  steps  taken 
by  Nucingen.  The  hapless  girl,  in  defending  her  fidelity, 
was  defending  her  life.  This  very  natural  instinct  was  what 
Carlos  called  prudery.  Now  Asia,  not  without  taking  such 
precautions  as  usual  in  such  cases,  went  off  to  report  to  Carlos 
the  conference  she  had  held  with  the  baron,  and  all  the  profit 
she  had  made  by  it.  The  man's  rage,  like  himself,  was 
terrible ;  he  came  forthwith  to  Esther,  in  a  carriage  with  the 
blinds  drawn,  driving  into  the  courtyard.  Still  almost  white 
with  fury,  the  double-dyed  forger  went  straight  into  the  poor 
girl's  room  ;  she  looked  at  him — she  was  standing  up — and 
she  dropped  on  to  a  chair  as  though  her  legs  had  snapped. 

"What  is  the  matter,  monsieur?"  said  she,  quaking  in 
every  limb. 

"Leave  us,  Europe,"  said  he  to  the  maid. 

Esther  looked  at  the  woman  as  a  child  might  look  at  its 
mother,  from  whom  some  assassin  had  snatched  it  to  murder 
it. 

"Do  you  know  where  you  will  send  Lucien?"  Carlos 
went  on  when  he  was  alone  with  Esther. 

"Where?  "  asked  she  in  a  low  voice,  venturing  to  glance 
at  her  executioner. 

"  Where  I  come  from,  my  beauty."  Esther,  as  she  looked 
at  the  man,  saw  red.  "  To  the  hulks,"  he  added  in  an  under- 
tone. 

Esther  shut  her  eyes.     Her  legs  stretched  out,  her  arms 


216  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

dropped,  she  turned  white  and  fainted.     The  man  rang,  and 
Prudence  appeared. 

"Bring  her  round,"  he  said  coldly ;  "I  have  not  done." 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  drawing-room  while  waiting. 
Prudence-Europe  was  obliged  to  come  and  beg  monsieur  to 
lift  Esther  on  to  the  bed ;  he  carried  her  with  an  ease  that 
betrayed  athletic  strength. 

They  had  to  procure  all  the  chemist's  strongest  stimulants 
to  restore  Esther  to  a  sense  of  her  woes.  An  hour  later  the 
poor  girl  was  able  to  listen  to  this  living  nightmare,  seated  at 
the  foot  of  her  bed,  his  eyes  fixed  and  glowing  like  two  spots 
of  molten  lead. 

"My  little  girl,"  said  he,  "Lucien  now  stands  between 
a  splendid  life,  honored,  happy,  and  respected,  and  the  hole 
full  of  water,  mud,  and  gravel  into  which  he  was  going  to 
plunge  when  I  met  him.  The  house  of  Grandlieu  requires  of 
the  dear  boy  an  estate  worth  a  million  francs  before  securing 
for  him  the  title  of  marquis,  and  handing  over  to  him  that 
may-pole  named  Clotilde,  by  whose  help  he  will  rise  to  power. 
Thanks  to  you  and  me,  Lucien  has  just  purchased  his  maternal 
manor,  the  old  Chateau  de  Rubempr£,  which,  indeed,  did 
not  cost  much — thirty  thousand  francs;  but  his  lawyer,  by 
clever  negotiations,  has  succeeded  in  adding  to  it  estates 
worth  a  million,  on  which  three  hundred  thousand  francs  are 
paid.  The  chateau,  the  expenses,  and  percentages  to  the  men 
who  were  put  forward  as  a  blind  to  conceal  the  transaction 
from  the  country  people  have  swallowed  up  the  remainder. 

"  We  have,  to  be  sure,  a  hundred  thousand  francs  invested 
in  a  business  here,  which  a  few  months  hence  will  be  worth 
two  or  three  hundred  thousand  francs ;  but  there  will  still  be 
four  hundred  thousand  francs  to  be  paid. 

"In  three  days  Lucien  will  be  home  from  Angoul&me, 
where  he  has  been,  because  he  must  not  be  suspected  of  hav- 
ing found  a  fortune  in  remaking  your  bed " 

"  Oh,  no  I  "  cried  she,  looking  up  with  a  noble  impulse. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  217 

"  I  ask  you,  then,  is  this  a  moment  to  scare  off  the  baron  ?  " 
he  went  on  calmly.  "And  you  very  nearly  killed  him  the 
day  before  yesterday;  he  fainted  like  a  woman  on  reading 
your  second  letter.  You  have  a  fine  style — I  congratulate 
you !  If  the  baron  had  died,  where  should  we  be  now  ? 
When  Lucien  walks  out  of  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin  son-in-law 
to  the  Due  de  Grandlieu,  if  you  want  to  try  a  dip  in  the 

Seine Well,  my  beauty,  I  offer  you  my  hand  for  a  dive 

together.     It  is  one  way  of  ending  matters. 

"But  consider  a  moment.  Would  it  not  be  better  to  live 
and  say  to  yourself  again  and  again,  '  This  fine  fortune,  this 
happy  family ' — for  he  will  have  children — children  !  Have 
you  ever  thought  of  the  joy  of  running  your  fingers  through 
the  hair  of  his  children  ?  " 

Esther  closed  her  eyes  with  a  little  shiver. 

"Well,  as  you  gaze  on  that  structure  of  happiness,  you  may 
say  to  yourself,  '  This  is  my  doing  ! '  " 

There  was  a  pause,  and  the  two  looked  at  each  other. 

"This  is  what  I  have  tried  to  make  out  of  such  despair  as 
saw  no  issue  but  the  river,"  said  Carlos.  "Am  I  selfish? 
That  is  the  way  to  love  !  Men  show  such  devotion  to  none 
but  kings !  But  I  have  anointed  Lucien  king.  If  I  were 
riveted  for  the  rest  of  my  days  to  my  old  chain,  I  fancy  I 
could  stay  there  resigned  so  long  as  I  could  say,  *  He  is  gay, 
he  is  at  Court.'  My  soul  and  mind  would  triumph,  while  my 
carcase  was  given  over  to  the  jailers  !  You  are  a  mere  female ; 
you  love  like  a  female  !  But  in  a  courtesan,  as  in  all  degraded 
creatures,  love  should  be  a  means  to  motherhood,  in  spite  of 
Nature,  which  has  stricken  you  with  barrenness! 

"  If  ever,  under  the  skin  of  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera,  any 
one  were  to  detect  the  convict  I  have  been,  do  you  know  what 
I  would  do  to  avoid  compromising  Lucien?" 

Esther  awaited  the  reply  with  some  anxiety. 

"Well,"  he  said  after  a  brief  pause,  "  I  would  die  as  the 
negroes  do — by  swallowing  my  tongue.  But  you,  with  all 


218  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

your  affectations,  will  put  people  on  my  track.  What  did  I 
require  of  you  ?  To  be  La  Torpille  again  for  six  months — 
for  six  weeks ;  and  to  do  it  to  clutch  a  million. 

"Lucien  will  never  forget  you.  Men  do  not  forget  the 
being  of  whom  they  are  reminded  day  after  day  by  the  joy 
of  awaking  rich  every  morning.  Lucien  is  a  better  fellow 
than  you  are.  He  began  by  loving  Coralie.  She  died — 
good ;  but  he  had  not  money  enough  to  bury  her ;  he  did  not 
do  as  you  did  just  now,  he  did  not  faint,  though  he  is  a  poet ; 
he  wrote  six  rollicking  songs,  and  earned  three  hundred  francs 
with  which  he  paid  for  Coralie's  funeral.*  I  have  those  songs  ; 
I  know  them  by  heart.  Well,  then,  do  you  too  compose  your 
songs :  be  cheerful,  be  gay,  be  irresistible  and — insatiable  ! 
You  hear  me?  Do  not  let  me  have  to  speak  again. 

"  Kiss  papa.     Farewell." 

When,  half  an  hour  after,  Europe  went  into  her  mistress' 
room,  she  found  her  kneeling  in  front  of  a  crucifix,  in  the 
attitude  which  the  most  religious  of  painters  has  given  to 
Moses  before  the  burning  bush  on  Horeb,  to  depict  his  deep 
and  complete  adoration  of  Jehovah.  After  saying  her  prayers, 
Esther  had  renounced  her  better  life,  the  honor  she  had  created 
for  herself,  her  glory,  her  virtue,  and  her  love. 

She  rose. 

"Oh,  madame,  you  will  never  look  like  that  again!" 
cried  Prudence  Servien,  struck  by  her  mistress'  sublime 
beauty. 

She  hastily  turned  the  long  mirror  so  that  the  poor  girl 
should  see  herself.  Her  eyes  still  had  a  light  as  of  the  soul 
flying  heavenward.  The  Jewess'  complexion  was  brilliant. 
Sparkling  with  tears  unshed  in  the  fervor  of  prayer,  her  eye- 
lashes were  like  leaves  after  a  summer  shower,  for  the  last 
time  they  shone  with  the  sunshine  of  pure  love.  Her  lips 
seemed  to  preserve  an  expression  as  of  her  last  appeal  to  the 
angels,  whose  palm  of  martyrdom  she  had  no  doubt  borrowed 
*  See  "A  Distinguished  Provincial  at  Paris." 


SHE    FOUND    HER    KNEELING    IN    FRONT    OF    A    CRUCIFIX. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  219 

while  placing  in  their  hands  her  past  unspotted  life.  And 
she  had  the  majesty  which  Mary  Stuart  must  have  shown 
at  the  moment  when  she  bid  adieu  to  crown,  to  earth,  and 
love. 

"  I  wish  Lucien  could  have  seen  me  thus  !  "  she  said  with 
a  smothered  sigh.  "Now,"  she  added,  in  a  strident  tone, 
"  now  for  a  fling  !  " 

Europe  stood  dumb  at  hearing  the  words,  as  though  she  had 
heard  an  angel  blaspheme. 

"Well,  why  need  you  stare  at  me  to  see  if  I  have  cloves  in 
my  mouth  instead  of  teeth  ?  I  am  nothing  henceforth  but  a 
vile,  foul  creature,  a  thief — and  I  expect  my  lord.  So  get  me 
a  hot  bath,  and  put  my  dress  out.  It  is  twelve  o'clock;  the 
baron  will  look  in,  no  doubt,  when  the  Bourse  closes ;  I  shall 
tell  him  I  was  waiting  for  him,  and  Asia  is  to  prepare  us 
dinner,  Al,  mind  you;  I  mean  to  turn  the  man's  brain. 
Come,  hurry,  hurry  up,  my  girl ;  we  are  going  to  have  some 
fun — that  is  to  say,  we  must  go  to  work." 

She  sat  down  at  the  table  and  wrote  the  following  note : 

" MY  FRIEND: — If  the  cook  you  have  sent  me  had  not 
already  been  in  my  service,  I  might  have  thought  that  your 
purpose  was  to  let  me  know  how  often  you  had  fainted  yester- 
day on  receiving  my  three  notes.  (What  can  I  say?  I  was 
very  nervous  that  day  ;  I  was  thinking  over  the  memories  of 
my  miserable  existence.)  But  I  know  how  sincere  Asia  is. 
Still,  I  cannot  repent  of  having  caused  you  so  much  pain, 
since  it  has  availed  to  prove  to  me  how  much  you  love  me. 
This  is  how  we  are  made,  we  luckless  and  despised  creatures ; 
true  affection  touches  us  far  more  deeply  than  finding  ourselves 
the  objects  of  lavish  liberality.  For  my  part,  I  have  always 
rather  dreaded  being  a  hook  on  which  you  would  hang  your 
vanities.  It  annoyed  me  to  be  nothing  else  to  you.  Yes,  in 
spite  of  all  your  protestations,  I  fancied  you  regarded  me 
merely  as  a  bought  woman. 


220  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Well,  you  will  now  find  me  a  good  girl,  but  on  condition 
of  your  always  obeying  me  a  little. 

"  If  this  letter  can  in  any  way  take  the  place  of  the  doctor's 
prescription,  prove  it  by  coming  to  see  me  after  the  Bourse 
closes.  You  will  find  me  in  full  fig,  dressed  in  your  gifts,  for 
I  am  for  life  your  pleasure-machine,  ESTHER." 

At  the  Bourse  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  was  so  gay,  so  cheer- 
ful, seemed  so  easy-going,  and  allowed  himself  so  many  jests, 
that  du  Tillet  and  the  Kellers,  who  were  on  'Change,  could 
not  help  asking  him  the  reason  of  his  high  spirits. 

"I  am  belofed.  Ve  shall  soon  gife  dat  house- vanning," 
he  told  du  Tillet. 

"And  how  much  does  it  cost  you?  "  asked  Francois  Keller 
rudely — it  was  said  that  he  had  spent  twenty-five  thousand 
francs  a  year  on  Madame  Colleville. 

"  Dat  voman  is  an  anchel !  She  never  has  ask'  me  for 
one  sou." 

"They  never  do,"  replied  du  Tillet.  "And  it  is  to  avoid 
asking  that  they  have  always  aunts  or  mothers." 

Between  the  Bourse  and  the  Rue  Taitbout  seven  times  did 
the  baron  say  to  his  servant — 

"  You  go  so  slow — vip  de  horse  !  " 

He  ran  lightly  upstairs,  and  for  the  first  time  saw  his  mis- 
tress in  all  the  beauty  of  such  women,  who  have  no  other 
occupation  than  the  care  of  their  person  and  their  dress.  Just 
out  of  her  bath  the  flower  was  quite  fresh,  and  perfumed  so  as 
to  inspire  desire  in  Robert  d'Arbrissel. 

Esther  was  in  a  charming  toilette.  A  dress  of  black  corded 
silk  trimmed  with  rose-colored  gimp  opened  over  a  petticoat 
of  gray  satin,  the  costume  subsequently  worn  by  Amigo,  the 
handsome  singer,  in  "  I  Puritani."  A  Honiton  lace  kerchief 
fell  or,  rather,  floated  over  her  shoulders.  The  sleeves  of  her 
gown  were  strapped  round  with  cording  to.  divide  the  puffs, 
which  for  some  little  time  fashion  has  substituted  for  the  large 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  221 

sieeves  which  had  grown  too  monstrous.  Esther  had  fastened 
a  Mechlin  lace  cap  on  her  magnificent  hair  with  a  pin,  a  la 
folle,  as  it  was  called,  ready  to  fall,  but  not  really  falling, 
giving  her  an  appearance  of  being  tumbled  and  in  disorder, 
though  the  white  parting  showed  plainly  on  her  little  head 
between  the  waves  of  her  hair. 

"Is  it  not  a  shame  to  see  madame  so  lovely  in  a  shabby 
drawing-room  like  this?"  said  Europe  to  the  baron,  as  she 
admitted  him. 

"Veil,  den,  come  to  de  Rue  Saint-Georches,"  said  the 
baron,  coming  to  a  full  stop  like  a  dog  marking  a  partridge. 
"  The  veather  is  splendit,  ve  shall  drife  to  de  Champs-Elysees, 
and  Montame  Saint-Estefe  and  Eugenie  shall  carry  dere  all 
your  clo'es  an'  your  linen,  an'  ve  shall  dine  in  de  Rue  Saint- 
Georches." 

"I  will  do  whatever  you  please,"  said  Esther,  "if  only  you 
will  be  so  kind  as  to  call  my  cook  Asia  and  Eugenie  Europe. 
I  have  given  those  names  to  all  the  women  who  have  served 
me  ever  since  the  two  first.  I  do  not  love  change " 

"Asia,  Europe!"  echoed  the  baron,  laughing.  "How 
ver'  droll  you  are.  You  hafe  infentions.  I  should  hafe  eaten 
many  dinners  before  I  should  hafe  call'  a  cook  Asia." 

"It  is  our  business  to  be  droll,"  said  Esther.  "Come, 
now,  may  not  a  poor  girl  be  fed  by  Asia  and  dressed  by 
Europe  when  you  live  on  the  whole  world  ?  It  is  a  myth,  I 
say ;  some  women  would  devour  the  earth,  I  only  ask  for  half. 
You  see?" 

"Vat  a  voman  is  Montame  Saint-Estefe  !  "  said  the  baron 
to  himself  as  he  admired  Esther's  changed  demeanor. 

"Europe,  my  girl,  I  want  my  bonnet,"  said  Esther.  "  I 
must  have  a  black  satin  bonnet  lined  with  pink  and  trimmed 
with  lace." 

"  Madame  Thomas  has  not  sent  it  home.  Come,  Monsieur 
le  Baron  ;  quick,  off  you  go  !  Begin  your  functions  as  a  man- 
of-all-work — that  is  to  say,  of  all  pleasure !  Happiness  is 


222  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

burdensome.  You  have  your  carriage  here,  go  to  Madame 
Thomas,"  said  Europe  to  the  baron.  "  Make  your  servant 
ask  for  the  bonnet  for  Madame  van  Bogseck.  And,  above 
all,"  she  added  in  his  ear,  "  bring  her  the  most  beautiful 
bouquet  to  be  had  in  Paris.  It  is  winter,  so  try  to  get  tropi- 
cal flowers." 

The  baron  went  downstairs  and  told  his  servants  to  go  to 
"  Montame  Thomas." 

The  coachman  drove  to  a  famous  pastry-cook's. 

"  She  is  a  milliner,  you  damn*  idiot,  and  not  a  cake-store  !  " 
cried  the  baron,  who  rushed  off  to  Madame  Prevot's  in  the 
Palais-Royal,  where  he  had  a  bouquet  made  up  costing  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  francs,  while  his  man  went  to  the  great  modiste. 

A  superficial  observer,  walking  about  Paris,  wonders  who 
the  fools  can  be  that  buy  the  fabulous  flowers  that  grace  the 
illustrious  bouquetiere's  store-window,  and  the  choice  products 
displayed  by  Chevet  of  European  fame — the  only  purveyor 
who  can  vie  with  the  Rocher  de  Cancale  in  a  real  and  de- 
licious Revue  des  deux  Mondes. 

Well,  every  day  in  Paris  a  hundred  or  more  passions  a  la 
Nucingen  come  into  being,  and  find  expression  in  offering 
such  rarities  as  queens  daYe  not  purchase,  presented,  kneeling, 
to  baggages  who,  to  use  Asia's  word,  like  to  cut  a  dash.  But 
for  these  little  details,  a  decent  citizen  would  be  puzzled  to 
conceive  how  a  fortune  melts  in  the  hands  of  these  women, 
whose  social  function,  in  Fourier's  scheme,  is  perhaps  to 
rectify  the  disasters  caused  by  avarice  and  cupidity.  Such 
squandering  is,  no  doubt,  to  the  social  body  what  a  prick  of 
the  lancet  is  to  a  plethoric  subject.  In  two  months  Nucingen 
had  shed  broadcast  on  trade  more  than  two  hundred  thousand 
francs. 

By  the  time  the  old  lover  returned  darkness  was  falling ; 
the  bouquet  was  no  longer  of  any  use.  The  hour  for  driving 
in  the  Champs-Elysees  in  the  winter  is  between  two  and  four. 
However,  the  carriage  was  of  use  to  convey  Esther  from  the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  223 

Rue  Taitbout  to  the  Rue  Saint-Georges,  where  she  took  pos- 
session of  the  "  little  palace."  Never  before  had  Esther  been 
the  object  of  such  worship  or  such  lavishness,  and  it  amazed 
her;  but,  like  all  royal  ingrates,  she  took  care  to  express  no 
surprise. 

When  you  go  into  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  to  enable  you  to 
appreciate  the  extent  and  height  of  this  queen  of  cathedrals, 
you  are  shown  the  little  finger  of  a  statue  which  looks  a  natural 
size,  and  which  measures  I  know  not  how  much.  Descriptions 
have  been  so  severely  criticised,  necessary  as  they  are  to  a 
history  of  manners,  that  I  must  here  follow  the  example  of 
the  Roman  Cicerone.  As  they  entered  the  dining-room,  the 
baron  could  not  resist  asking  Esther  to  feel  the  stuff  of  which 
the  window  curtains  were  made,  draped  with  magnificent  full- 
ness, lined  with  white  watered  silk,  and  bordered  with  a  gimp 
fit  to  trim  a  Portuguese  princess'  bodice.  The  material  was 
silk  brought  from  Canton,  on  which  Chinese  patience  had 
painted  Oriental  birds  with  a  perfection  only  to  be  seen  in 
mediaeval  illuminations,  or  in  the  missal  of  Charles  V.,  the 
pride  of  the  Imperial  Library  at  Vienna. 

"It  hafe  cost  two  tousand  franc'  an  ell  for  a  milord  who 
brought  it  from  Intia " 

"It  is  very  nice,  charming,"  said  Esther.  "How  I  shall 
enjoy  drinking  champagne  here ;  the  froth  will  not  get  dirty 
here  on  a  bare  floor." 

"Oh!  madame  !  "  cried  Europe,  "only  look  at  the  car- 
pet !  " 

"  Dis  carpet  hafe  been  made  for  de  Due  de  Torlonia,  a 
frient  of  mine,  who  fount  it  too  dear,  so  I  took  it  for  you  who 
are  my  queen,"  said  Nucingen. 

By  chance  this  carpet,  by  one  of  our  cleverest  designers, 
matched  with  the  whimsicalities  of  the  Chinese  curtains. 
The  walls,  painted  by  Schinner  and  Leon  de  Lora,  repre- 
sented voluptuous  scenes,  in  carved  ebony  frames,  purchased 
for  their  weight  in  gold  from  Dusommerard,  and  forming 


224  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

panels  with  a  narrow  line  of  gold  that  coyly  caught  the 
light. 

From  this  you  may  judge  of  the  rest. 

"You  did  well  to  bring  me  here,"  said  Esther.  "  It  will 
take  me  a  week  to  get  used  to  my  home  and  not  to  look  like 
a  parvenu  in  it " 

"J/yhome!  Den  you  shall  accept  it?"  cried  the  baron 
in  glee. 

"  Why,  of  course,  and  a  thousand  times  of  course,  stupid 
animal,"  said  she,  smiling. 

"Animal  vas  enough " 

"Stupid  is  a  term  of  endearment,"  said  she,  looking  at 
him. 

The  poor  man  took  Esther's  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his 
heart.  He  was  animal  enough  to  feel,  but  too  stupid  to  find 
words. 

"Feel  how  it  beats — for  ein  little  tender  vort " 

And  he  conducted  his  goddess  to  her  room. 

"  Oh,  madame,  I  cannot  stay  here  !  "  cried  Eugenie.  "  It 
makes  me  long  to  go  to  bed." 

"Well,"  said  Esther,  "I  mean  to  please  the  magician  who 
has  worked  all  these  wonders.  Listen,  my  fat  elephant,  after 
dinner  we  will  go  to  the  play  together.  I  am  starving  to  see 
a  play." 

It  was  just  six  years  since  Esther  had  been  to  a  theatre. 
All  Paris  was  rushing  at  that  time  to  the  Porte-Saint-Martin, 
to  see  one  of  those  pieces  to  which  the  power  of  the  actors 
lends  a  terrible  expression  of  reality,  "Richard  Darlington." 
Like  all  ingenuous  natures,  Esther  loved  to  feel  the  thrills  of 
fear  as  much  as  to  yield  to  tears  of  pathos. 

"  Let  us  go  to  see  Frederick  Lemaitre,"  said  she;  "he  is 
an  actor  I  adore." 

"It  is  a  horrible  piece,"  said  Nucingen,  foreseeing  the 
moment  when  he  must  show  himself  in  public. 

He  sent  his  servant  to  secure  one  of  the  two  stage-boxes  on 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  225 

the  grand  tier.  And  this  is  another  strange  feature  of  Paris. 
Whenever  success,  on  feet  of  clay,  fills  a  house,  there  is 
always  a  stage-box  to  be  had  ten  minutes  before  the  curtain 
rises.  The  managers  keep  it  for  themselves,  unless  it  happens 
to  be  taken  for  a  passion  a  la  Nucingen.  This  box,  like 
Chevet's  dainties,  is  a  tax  levied  on  the  whims  of  the  Parisian 
Olympus. 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  describe  the  plate  and  china. 
Nucingen  had  provided  three  services  of  plate — common, 
medium,  and  best ;  and  the  best — plates,  dishes,  and  all — was 
of  chased  silver  gilt.  The  banker,  to  avoid  overloading  the 
table  with  gold  and  silver,  had  completed  the  array  of  each 
service  with  porcelain  of  exquisite  fragility  in  the  style  of 
Dresden  china,  which  had  cost  more  than  the  plate.  As  to 
the  linen — Saxony,  England,  Flanders,  and  France  vied  in 
the  perfection  of  flowered  damask. 

At  dinner  it  was  the  baron's  turn  to  be  amazed  on  tasting 
Asia's  cookery. 

"I  understant,"  said  he,  "vy  you  call  her  Asia;  dis  is 
Asiatic  cooking." 

"I  begin  to  think  he  loves  me,"  said  Esther  to  Europe; 
"  he  has  said  something  almost  like  a  ban  mot." 

"  I  said  many  vorts,"  said  he. 

"  Well !  he  is  more  like  Turcaret  than  I  had  heard  he 
was!  "  cried  the  girl,  laughing  at  this  reply,  worthy  of  the 
many  artless  speeches  for  which  the  banker  was  famous. 

The  dishes  were  purposely  so  highly  spiced  as  to  give  the 
baron  an  indigestion,  that  he  might  go  home  early;  so  this 
was  all  he  got  in  the  way  of  pleasure  out  of  his  first  evening  with 
Esther.  At  the  theatre  he  was  obliged  to  drink  an  immense 
number  of  glasses  of  eau  sucrtc,  leaving  Esther  alone  between 
the  acts. 

By  a  coincidence  so  probable  that  it  can  scarcely  be  called 
chance,  Tullia,  Mariette,  and  Madame  du  Val-Noble  were  at 
the  play  that  evening.  "Richard  Darlington"  enjoyed  a 
15 


226  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

wild  success — and  a  deserved  success — such  as  is  seen  only  in 
Paris.  The  men  who  saw  this  play  all  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  a  lawful  wife  might  be  thrown  out  of  window,  and  the 
wives  loved  to  see  themselves  unjustly  persecuted. 

The  women  said  to  each  other :  "  This  is  too  much  !  we  are 
driven  to  it — but  it  often  happens  ! ' ' 

Now  a  woman  as  beautiful  as  Esther,  and  dressed  as  Esther 
was,  could  not  show  off  with  impunity  in  a  stage-box  at  the 
Porte-Saint-Martin.  And  so,  during  the  second  act,  there 
was  quite  a  commotion  in  the  box  where  the  two  dancers  were 
sitting,  caused  by  the  undoubted  identity  of  the  unknown  fair 
one  with  La  Torpille. 

"Heyday!  where  has  she  dropped  from?"  said  Mariette 
to  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  "  I  thought  she  had  gone  under — 
swamped." 

"  But  is  it  she  ?  She  looks  to  me  thirty-seven  times  younger 
and  handsomer  than  she  was  six  years  ago." 

"Perhaps  she  has  preserved  herself  in  ice  like  Madame 
d'Espard  and  Madame  Zayonchek,"  said  the  Comte  de  Bram- 
bourg,  who  had  brought  the  three  women  to  the  play,  to  a 
pit-tier  box.  "Isn't  she  the  rat  you  meant  to  send  me  to 
hocus  my  uncle?  "  said  Philippe,  addressing  Tullia. 

"  The  very  same,"  said  the  singer.  "  Du  Bruel,  go  down 
to  the  stalls  and  see  if  it  is  really  she." 

"What  brass  she  has  got!"  exclaimed  Madame  du  Val- 
Noble,  using  an  expressive  but  vulgar  phrase. 

"Oh!"  said  the  Comte  de  Brambourg,  "she  very  well 
may.  She  is  with  my  friend  the  Baron  de  Nucingen — I  will 
go  to  their  box  myself." 

"  Is  that  the  immaculate  Joan  of  Arc  who  has  taken  Nucin- 
gen by  storm,  and  who  has  been  talked  of  till  we  are  all  sick 
of  her,  these  three  months  past?"  asked  Mariette. 

"Good-evening,  my  dear  baron,"  said  Philippe  Bridau,  as 
he  went  into  Nucingen's  box.  "  So  here  you  are,  married  to 
Mademoiselle  Esther.  Mademoiselle,  I  am  an  old  officer 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  227 

whom  you  once  on  a  time  were  to  have  got  out  of  a  scrape — 
at  Issoudun — Philippe  Bridau " 

"I  know  nothing  of  it,"  said  Esther,  looking  round  the 
house  through  her  opera-glasses. 

"Dis  lady,"  said  the  baron,  "is  no  longer  known  as 
'  Esther,'  so  short !  She  is  called  Montame  de  Champy — ein 
little  estate  vat  I  have  bought  for  her " 

"Though  you  do  things  in  such  style,"  said  the  comte, 
"  these  ladies  are  saying  that  Madame  de  Champy  gives  her- 
self too  great  airs.  If  you  do  not  choose  to  remember  me, 
will  you  condescend  to  recognize  Mariette,  Tullia,  Madame 
du  Val-Noble?"  the  parvenu  went  on — a  man  for  whom  the 
Due  de  Maufrigneuse  had  won  the  dauphin's  favor. 

"  If  those  ladies  are  kind  to  me,  I  am  willing  to  make  my- 
self pleasant  to  them,"  replied  Madame  de  Champy  drily. 

"  Kind  !  Why,  they  are  excellent ;  they  have  named  you 
Joan  of  Arc,"  replied  Philippe. 

"Veil  den,  if  dese  ladies  vill  keep  you  company,"  said 
Nucingen,  "  I  shall  go  'vay,  for  I  hafe  eaten  too  much. 
Your  carriage  shall  come  for  you  and  your  people.  Dat 
teufel  Asia!" 

"The  first  time,  and  you  leave  me  alone !"  said  Esther. 
"  Come,  come,  you  must  have  courage  enough  to  die  on  deck. 
I  must  have  my  man  with  me  as  I  go  out.  If  I  were  insulted, 
am  I  to  cry  out  for  nothing?  " 

The  old  millionaire's  selfishness  had  to  give  way  to  his 
duties  as  a  lover.  The  baron  suffered,  but  stayed. 

Esther  had  her  own  reasons  for  detaining  "her  man." 
If  she  admitted  her  acquaintance,  she  would  be  less  closely 
questioned  in  his  presence  than  if  she  were  alone.  Philippe 
Bridau  hurried  back  to  the  box  where  the  dancers  were  sitting, 
and  informed  them  of  the  state  of  affairs. 

"Oh !  so  it  is  she  who  has  fallen  heir  to  my  house  in  the 
Rue  Saint-Georges,"  observed  Madame  du  Val-Noble  with 
some  bitterness ;  for  she,  as  she  phrased  it,  was  on  the  loose. 


228  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Most  likely,"  said  the  colonel.  "  Du  Tillet  told  me  that 
the  baron  had  spent  three  times  as  much  there  as  your  poor 
Falleix." 

"  Let  us  go  round  to  her  box,"  said  Tullia. 

"Not  if  I  know  it,"  said  Mariette  ;  "she  is  much  too 
handsome.  I  will  call  on  her  at  home." 

"  I  think  myself  good-looking  enough  to  risk  it,V  remarked 
Tullia. 

So  the  much-daring  leading  dancer  went  round  between  the 
acts  and  renewed  acquaintance  with  Esther,  who  would  talk 
only  on  general  subjects. 

"  And  where  have  you  come  back  from,  my  dear  child?  " 
asked  Tullia,  who  could  not  restrain  her  curiosity. 

"Oh,  I  was  for  five  years  in  a  castle  in  the  Alps  with  an 
Englishman,  as  jealous  as  a  tiger,  a  nabob ;  I  called  him  a 
nabot,  a  dwarf,  for  he  was  not  any  bigger  than  a  shrimp. 

"And  then  I  came  across  a  banker — from  a  savage  to  sal- 
vation, as  Florine  might  say.  And  now  here  I  am  in  Paris 
again  ;  I  long  so  for  amusement  that  I  mean  to  have  a  rare  old 
time.  I  shall  keep  open  house.  I  have  five  years  of  solitary 
confinement  to  make  good,  and  I  am  beginning  to  do  it. 
Five  years  of  an  Englishman  is  rather  too  much  ;  they  ought 
to  be  played  '  for  six  weeks  only,'  as  the  posters  read." 

"  Was  it  the  baron  who  gave  you  that  lace  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  a  relic  of  the  nabob.  What  ill-luck  I  have,  my 
dear  !  He  was  as  yellow  as  a  friend's  smile  at  a  success ;  I 
thought  he  would  be  dead  in  ten  months.  Pooh  !  he  was  as 
strong  as  a  mountain.  Always  distrust  men  who  say  they 
have  a  liver  complaint.  I  will  never  listen  to  a  man  who 
talks  of  his  liver.  I  have  had  too  much  of  livers — who  can- 
not die.  My  nabob  robbed  me ;  he  died  without  making  a 
will,  and  the  family  turned  me  out  of  doors  like  a  leper.  So, 
then,  I  said  to  my  fat  friend  here,  '  Pay  for  two  ! '  You  may 
well  call  me  Joan  of  Arc ;  I  have  ruined  England,  and  per- 
haps I  shall  die  at  the  stake  burned " 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  229 

"By  love?"  said  Tullia. 

"Alive,"  answered  Esther  dreamingly. 

The  baron  laughed  at  all  this  vulgar  nonsense,  but  he  did 
not  always  follow  it  readily,  so  that  his  laughter  sounded  like 
the  forgotten  crackers  that  go  off  after  fireworks. 

We  all  live  in  a  sphere  of  some  kind,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  each  and  every  sphere  are  endowed  with  an  equal  share  of 
curiosity. 

Next  evening  at  the  opera,  Esther's  reappearance  was  the 
great  news  behind  the  scenes.  Between  two  and  four  in  the 
afternoon  all  Paris  in  the  Champs-Elys6es  had  recognized  La 
Torpille,  and  knew  at  last  who  was  the  object  of  the  Baron  de 
Nucingen's  passion. 

"Do  you  know,"  Blondet  remarked  to  de  Marsay  in  the 
green-room  at  the  opera-house,  "  that  La  Torpille  vanished 
the  very  day  after  the  evening  when  we  saw  her  here  and  rec- 
ognized her  in  little  Rubempre's  mistress." 

In  Paris,  as  in  the  provinces,  everything  is  known.  The 
police  of  the  Rue  de  Jerusalem  are  not  so  efficient  as  the  world 
itself,  for  every  one  is  a  spy  on  every  one  else,  though  uncon- 
sciously. Carlos  had  fully  understood  the  danger  of  Lucien's 
position  during  and  after  the  episode  of  the  Rue  Taitbout. 

No  position  can  be  more  dreadful  than  that  in  which 
Madame  du  Val-Noble  now  found  herself;  and  the  phrase  to 
be  on  the  loose,  or,  as  the  French  say,  left  on  foot,  expresses 
it  perfectly.  The  recklessness  and  extravagance  of  these 
women  precludes  all  care  for  the  future.  In  that  strange 
world,  far  more  witty  and  amusing  than  might  be  supposed, 
only  such  women  as  are  not  gifted  with  that  perfect  beauty 
which  time  can  hardly  impair,  and  which  is  quite  unmis- 
takable— only  such  women,  in  short,  as  can  be  loved  merely 
as  a  fancy,  ever  think  of  old  age  and  save  a  fortune.  The 
handsomer  they  are,  the  more  improvident. 

"Are   you  afraid  of  growing  ugly   that   you   are  saving 


230  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

money?"  was  a  speech  of  Florine's  to  Mariette,  which  may 
give  a  clue  to  one  cause  of  this  thriftlessness. 

Thus,  if  a  speculator  kills  himself,  or  a  spendthrift  comes 
to  the  end  of  his  resources,  these  women  fall  with  hideous 
promptitude  from  audacious  wealth  to  the  utmost  misery. 
They  throw  themselves  into  the  clutches  of  the  old-clothes 
buyer,  and  sell  exquisite  jewels  for  a  mere  Jong ;  they  run  into 
debt,  expressly  to  keep  up  a  spurious  luxury,  in  the  hope  of 
recovering  what  they  have  lost — a  cash-box  to  draw  upon. 
These  ups  and  downs  of  their  career  account  for  the  costliness 
of  such  connections,  generally  brought  about  as  Asia  had 
hooked  (another  word  of  her  vocabulary)  Nucingen  for 
Esther. 

And  so  those  who  know  their  Paris  are  quite  aware  of  the 
state  of  affairs  when,  in  the  Champs-Elysees — that  bustling 
and  mongrel  bazaar — they  meet  some  woman  in  a  hired  fly 
whom  six  months  or  a  year  before  they  had  seen  in  a  magnifi- 
cent and  dazzling  carriage,  turned  out  in  the  most  luxurious 
style. 

"If  you  fall  on  Sainte-Pelagie,  you  must  contrive  to  re- 
bound on  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,"  said  Florine,  laughing  with 
Blondet  over  the  little  Vicomte  de  Portenduere. 

Some  clever  women  never  run  the  risk  of  this  contrast. 
They  bury  themselves  in  horrible  furnished  lodgings,  where 
they  expiate  their  extravagance  by  such  privations  as  are  en- 
dured by  travelers  lost  in  a  Sahara ;  but  they  never  take  the 
smallest  fancy  for  economy.  They  venture  forth  to  masked 
balls ;  they  take  journeys  into  the  provinces ;  they  turn  out 
well  dressed  on  the  boulevards  when  the  weather  is  fine.  And 
then  they  find  in  each  other  the  devoted  kindness  which  is 
known  only  among  proscribed  races.  It  costs  a  woman  in 
luck  no  effort  to  bestow  some  help,  for  she  says  to  herself,  "  I 
may  be  in  the  same  plight  by  Sunday  !  " 

However,  the  most  efficient  protector  sjtill  is  the  purchaser 
of  dress.  When  this  greedy  money-lender  finds  herself  the 


THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  231 

creditor,  she  stirs  and  works  on  the  hearts  of  all  the  old  men 
she  knows  in  favor  of  the  mortgaged  creature  in  thin  shoes 
and  a  fine  bonnet. 

In  this  way  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  unable  to  foresee  the 
downfall  of  one  of  the  richest  and  cleverest  of  stock-brokers, 
was  left  quite  unprepared.  She  had  spent  Falleix's  money  on 
her  whims,  and  trusted  to  him  for  all  necessaries  and  to  pro- 
vide for  the  future. 

"  How  could  I  have  expected  such  a  thing  in  a  man  who 
seemed  such  a  good  fellow  ?  " 

In  almost  every  class  of  society  the  good  fellow  is  an  open- 
handed  man,  who  will  lend  a  few  crowns  now  and  again  with- 
out expecting  them  back,  who  always  behaves  in  accordance 
with  a  certain  code  of  delicate  feeling  above  mere  vulgar, 
obligatory,  and  commonplace  morality.  Certain  men,  re- 
garded as  virtuous  and  honest,  have,  like  Nucingen,  ruined 
their  benefactors ;  and  certain  others,  who  have  been  through 
a  criminal  court,  have  an  ingenious  kind  of  honesty  toward 
women.  Perfect  virtue,  the  dream  of  Moliere,  an  Alceste,  is 
exceedingly  rare ;  still,  it  is  to  be  found  everywhere,  even  in 
Paris.  The  "  good  fellow  "  is  the  product  of  a  certain  facility 
of  nature  which  proves  nothing.  A  man  is  a  good  fellow,  as 
a  cat  is  silky,  as  a  slipper  is  made  to  slip  on  to  the  foot.  And 
so,  in  the  meaning  given  to  the  word  by  a  kept  woman,  Fal- 
leix  ought  to  have  warned  his  mistress  of  his  approaching 
bankruptcy  and  have  given  her  enough  to  live  upon. 

D'Estourny,  the  dashing  swindler,  was  a  good  fellow;  he 
cheated  at  cards,  but  he  had  set  aside  thirty  thousand  francs 
for  his  mistress.  And  at  carnival  suppers  women  would  retort 
on  his  accusers:  "No  matter.  You  may  say  what  you  like, 
Georges  was  a  good  fellow ;  he  had  charming  manners,  he 
deserved  a  better  fate." 

These  girls  laugh  laws  to  scorn,  and  adore  a  certain  kind  of 
generosity ;  they  sell  themselves,  as  Esther  had  done,  for  a 
secret  ideal,  which  is  their  religion. 


232  THE  HARLOT'S  PJKOGKESS. 

After  saving  a  few  jewels  from  the  wreck  with  great  diffi- 
culty, Madame  du  Val-Noble  was  crushed  under  the  burden 
of  the  horrible  report :  "She  ruined  Falleix."  She  was  almost 
thirty ;  and  though  she  was  in  the  prime  of  her  beauty,  still 
she  might  be  called  an  old  woman,  and  all  the  more  so  because 
in  such  a  crisis  all  a  woman's  rivals  are  against  her.  Mariette, 
Florine,  Tullia  would  ask  their  friend  to  dinner,  and  gave  her 
some  help ;  but  as  they  did  not  know  the  extent  of  her  debts, 
they  did  not  dare  to  sound  the  depths  of  that  gulf.  An  in- 
terval of  six  years  formed  rather  too  long  a  gap  in  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  the  Paris  tide,  between  La  Torpille  and  Madame  du 
Val-Noble,  for  the  woman  "on  foot  "  to  speak  to  the  woman 
in  her  carriage  ;  but  La  Val-Noble  knew  that  Esther  was  too 
generous  not  to  remember  sometimes  that  she  had,  as  she  said, 
fallen  heir  to  her  possessions,  and  not  to  seek  her  out  by  some 
meeting  which  might  seem  accidental  though  arranged.  To 
bring  about  such  an  accident,  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  dressed 
in  the  most  lady-like  way,  walked  out  every  day  in  the 
Champs-Elysees  on  the  arm  of  Theodore  Gaillard,  who  after- 
ward married  her,  and  who,  in  these  straits,  behaved  very 
well  to  his  former  mistress,  giving  her  boxes  at  the  play,  and 
inviting  her  to  every  spree.  She  flattered  herself  that  Esther, 
driving  out  one  fine  day,  would  meet  her  face  to  face. 

Esther's  coachman  was  Paccard — for  her  household  had 
been  made  up  in  five  days  by  Asia,  Europe,  and  Paccard 
under  Carlos'  instructions,  and  in  such  a  way  that  the  house 
in  the  Rue  Saint-Georges  was  an  impregnable  fortress. 

Peyrade,  on  his  part,  prompted  by  deep  hatred,  by  the 
thirst  for  vengeance,  and,  above  all,  by  his  wish  to  see  his 
darling  Lydie  married,  made  the  Champs-Elysees  the  end  of 
his  walks  as  soon  as  he  heard  from  Contenson  that  Monsieur 
de  Nucingen's  mistress  might  be  seen  there.  Peyrade  could 
dress  so  exactly  like  an  Englishman,  and  spoke  French  so 
perfectly  with  the  mincing  accent  that  the  English  give  the 
language ;  he  knew  England  itself  so  well,  and  was  so  familiar 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  233 

with  all  the  customs  of  the  country,  having  been  sent  to  Eng- 
land by  the  police  authorities  three  times  between  1779  and 
1786,  that  he  could  play  his  part  in  London  and  at  ambassa- 
dors' residences  without  awaking  suspicion.  Peyrade,  who  had 
some  resemblance  to  Musson,  the  famous  juggler,  could  dis- 
guise himself  so  effectually  that  once  Contenson  did  not  recog- 
nize him. 

Followed  by  Contenson  dressed  as  a  mulatto,  Peyrade 
examined  Esther  and  her  servants  with  an  eye  which,  seeming 
heedless,  took  in  everything.  Hence  it  quite  naturally  hap- 
pened that  in  the  side-alley  where  the  carriage-company  walk 
in  fine  dry  weather,  he  was  on  the  spot  one  day  when  Esther 
met  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  Peyrade,  his  mulatto  in  livery 
at  his  heels,  was  airing  himself  quite  naturally,  like  a  nabob 
who  is  thinking  of  no  one  but  himself,  in  a  line  with  the  two 
women,  so  as  to  catch  a  few  words  of  their  conversation. 

"Well,  my  dear  child,"  said  Esther  to  Madame  du  Val- 
Noble,  "come  and  see  me.  Nucingen  owes  it  to  himself  not 
to  leave  his  stock-broker's  mistress  without  a  sou " 

"All  the  more  so  because  it  is  said  that  he  ruined  Falleix," 
remarked  Theodore  Gaillard,  "  and  that  we  have  every  right  to 
squeeze  him." 

"  He  dines  with  me  to-morrow,"  said  Esther;  "come  and 
meet  him."  Then  she  added  in  an  undertone — 

"  I  can  do  what  I  like  with  him,  and  as  yet  he  has  not  had 
that?"  and  she  put  the  nail  of  a  gloved  finger  under  the 
prettiest  of  her  teeth  with  the  click  that  is  familiarly  known 
to  express  with  peculiar  meaning,  "not  a  thing." 

"You  have  him  safe " 

"  My  dear,  as  yet  he  has  only  paid  my  debts." 

"  How  mean  !  "  cried  Suzanne  du  Val-Noble. 

"Oh!"  said  Esther,  "I  had  debts  enough  to  frighten  a 
minister  of  finance.  Now,  I  mean  to  have  thirty  thousand 
a  year  before  the  first  stroke  of  midnight.  Oh  !  he  is  excel- 
lent, I  have  nothing  to  complain  of.  He  does  it  well.  In  2 


234  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

week  we  give  a  house-warming;  you  must  come.  That  morn- 
ing he  is  to  make  me  a  present  of  the  lease  of  the  house  in 
the  Rue  Saint-Georges.  In  decency,  it  is  impossible  to  live 
in  such  a  house  on  less  than  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year — of 
my  own,  so  as  to  have  them  safe  in  case  of  accident.  I  have 
known  poverty,  and  I  want  no  more  of  it.  There  are  certain 
acquaintances  one  has  had  enough  of  at  once." 

"And  you,  who  used  to  say,  'My  face  is  my  fortune!' 
How  you  have  changed  !  "  exclaimed  Suzanne. 

"It  is  the  air  of  Switzerland;  you  grow  thrifty  there. 
Look  here ;  go  there  yourself,  my  dear  !  Catch  a  Swiss,  and 
you  may  perhaps  catch  a  husband,  for  they  have  not  yet 
learned  what  such  women  as  we  are.  And,  at  any  rate,  you 
may  come  back  with  a  passion  for  investments  in  the  Funds — 
a  most  respectable  and  elegant  passion  !  Adieu." 

Esther  got  into  her  carriage  again,  a  handsome  carriage 
drawn  by  the  finest  pair  of  dapple-gray  horses  at  that  time  to 
be  seen  in  Paris. 

"  The  woman  who  is  getting  into  the  carriage  is  handsome," 
said  Peyrade  to  Contenson,  "but  I  like  the  one  who  is  walk- 
ing best ;  follow  her,  and  find  out  who  she  is." 

"  That  is  what  that  Englishman  has  just  remarked  in  Eng- 
lish," said  Theodore  Gaillard,  repeating  Peyrade's  remark  to 
Madame  du  Val-Noble. 

Before  making  this  speech  in  English,  Peyrade  had  uttered 
a  word  or  two  in  that  language,  which  had  made  Theodore 
look  up  in  a  way  that  convinced  him  that  the  journalist  under- 
stood English. 

Madame  du  Val-Noble  very  slowly  made  her  way  home 
to  very  decent  furnished  rooms  in  the  Rue  Louis-le-Grand, 
glancing  round  now  and  then  to  see  if  the  mulatto  were 
following  her. 

This  establishment  was  kept  by  a  certain  Madame  Gerard, 
whom  Suzanne  had  obliged  in  the  days  of, her  splendor,  and 
who  showed  her  gratitude  by  giving  her  a  suitable  home.  This 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  235 

good  soul,  an  honest  and  virtuous  citizen,  even  pious,  looked 
on  the  courtesan  as  a  woman  of  a  superior  order ;  she  had 
always  seen  her  in  the  midst  of  luxury,  and  thought  of  her  as 
a  fallen  queen;  she  trusted  her  daughters  with  her;  and — 
which  is  a  fact  more  natural  than  might  be  supposed — the 
courtesan  was  as  scrupulously  careful  in  taking  them  to  the 
play  as  their  mother  could  have  been,  and  the  two  Gerard 
girls  loved  her.  The  worthy,  kind  lodging-house  keeper  was 
like  those  sublime  priests  who  see  in  these  outlawed  women 
only  a  creature  to  be  saved  and  loved. 

Madame  du  Val-Noble  respected  this  worth ;  and  often,  as 
she  chatted  with  the  good  woman,  she  envied  her  while 
bewailing  her  own  ill-fortune. 

"You  are  still  handsome;  you  may  make  a  good  end  yet," 
Madame  Gerard  would  say. 

But,  indeed,  Madame  du  Val-Noble  was  only  relatively 
impoverished.  This  woman's  wardrobe,  so  extravagant  and 
elegant,  was  still  sufficiently  well  furnished  to  allow  of  her 
appearing  on  occasion — as  on  that  evening  at  the  Porte-Saint- 
Martin  to  see  "Richard  Darlington" — in  much  splendor. 
And  Madame  Gerard  would  good-naturedly  pay  for  the 
coaches  needed  by  the  lady  "  on  foot  "  to  go  out  to  dine,  or 
to  the  play,  and  to  come  home  again. 

"Well,  dear  Madame  Gerard,"  said  she  to  this  worthy 
mother,  "  my  luck  is  about  to  change,  I  believe." 

"  Well,  well,  madame,  so  much  the  better.  But  be  pru- 
dent ;  do  not  run  into  debt  any  more.  I  have  such  difficulty 
in  getting  rid  of  the  people  who  are  hunting  for  you." 

"Oh,  never  worry  yourself  about  those  hounds.  They 
have  all  made  no  end  of  money  out  of  me.  Here  are  some 
tickets  for  the  Varietes  for  your  girls — a  good  box  on  the 
second  tier.  If  any  one  should  ask  for  me  this  evening  be- 
fore I  come  in,  show  them  up  all  the  same.  Adele,  my  old 
maid,  will  be  here;  I  will  send  her  round." 

Madame  du  Val-Noble,  having  neither  mother  nor  aunt, 


236  THE  HARLOT'S  PJtOGKESS.     » 

was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  her  maid — equally  on  foot — 
to  play  the  part  of  a  Saint-Esteve  with  the  unknown  follower 
whose  conquest  was  to  enable  her  to  rise  again  in  the  world. 
She  went  to  dine  with  Theodore  Gaillard,  who,  as  it  hap- 
pened, had  a  spree  on  that  day — that  is  to  say,  a  dinner  given 
by  Nathan  in  payment  of  a  bet  he  had  lost — one  of  those 
orgies  when  a  man  says  to  his  guests:  "You  may  bring  a 
woman." 

It  was  not  without  strong  reasons  that  Peyrade  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  rush  in  person  on  to  the  field  of  this  intrigue. 
At  the  same  time,  his  curiosity,  like  Corentin's,  was  so  keenly 
excited,  that,  even  in  the  absence  of  reasons,  he  would  have 
tried  to  play  a  part  in  the  drama. 

At  this  moment  Charles  X.'s  policy  had  completed  its  last 
evolution.  After  confiding  the  helm  of  State  to  ministers  of 
his  own  choosing,  the  King  was  preparing  to  conquer  Al- 
giers, and  to  utilize  the  glory  that  should  accrue  as  a  pass- 
port to  what  has  been  called  his  Coup  d' Etat.  There  were  no 
more  conspiracies  at  home ;  Charles  X.  believed  he  had  no 
domestic  enemies.  But  in  politics,  as  at  sea,  a  calm  may  be 
deceptive. 

Thus  Corentin  had  lapsed  into  total  idleness.  In  such  a 
case  a  true  sportsman,  to  keep  his  hand  in,  for  lack  of  larks 
kills  sparrows.  Domitian,  we  know,  for  lack  of  Christians, 
killed  flies.  Contenson,  having  witnessed  Esther's  arrest, 
had,  with  the  keen  instinct  of  a  spy,  fully  understood  the 
upshot  of  the  business.  The  rascal,  as  we  have  seen,  did  not 
attempt  to  conceal  his  opinion  of  the  Baron  de  Nucingen. 

"Who  is  benefiting  by  making  the  banker  pay  so  dear  for 
his  passion?"  was  the  first  question  the  allies  asked  each 
other.  Recognizing  Asia  as  a  leading  actor  in  the  piece,  Con- 
tenson hoped  to  find  out  the  author  through  her;  but  she 
slipped  through  his  fingers  again  and  again,  hiding  like  an 
eel  in  the  mud  of  Paris;  and  when  he  found  her  again  as 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  237 

the  cook  in  Esther's  establishment,  it  seemed  to  him  inexpli- 
cable that  the  half-caste  woman  should  have  had  a  finger  in 
the  pie.  Thus,  for  the  first  time,  these  two  artistic  spies  had 
come  on  a  cryptogram  that  they  could  not  decipher,  while 
suspecting  a  dark  plot  to  the  story. 

After  three  bold  attempts  on  the  house  in  the  Rue  Tait- 
bout,  Contenson  still  met  with  absolute  dumbness.  So  long 
as  Esther  dwelt  there  the  lodge  porter  seemed  to  live  in 
mortal  terror.  Asia  had,  perhaps,  promised  poisoned  meat- 
balls to  all  the  family  in  the  event  of  any  indiscretion. 

On  the  day  after  Esther's  removal,  Contenson  found  this 
man  rather  more  amenable ;  he  regretted  the  lady,  he  said, 
who  had  fed  him  with  the  broken  dishes  from  her  table. 
Contenson,  disguised  as  a  broker,  tried  to  bargain  for  the 
rooms,  and  listened  to  the  porter's  lamentations  while  he  fooled 
him,  casting  a  doubt  on  all  the  man  said  by  a  questioning 
"Really?" 

"Yes,  monsieur,  the  lady  lived  here  for  five  years  without 
ever  going  out,  and  more  by  token,  her  lover,  desperately 
jealous  though  she  was  beyond  reproach,  took  the  greatest 
precautions  when  he  came  in  or  went  out.  And  a  very  hand- 
some young  man  he  was  too  !  " 

Lucien  was  at  this  time  still  staying  with  his  sister,  Madame 
Sechard  ;  but  as  soon  as  he  returned,  Contenson  sent  the 
porter  to  the  Quai  Malaquais  to  ask  Monsieur  de  Rubempre 
whether  he  were  willing  to  part  with  the  furniture  left  in  the 
rooms  lately  occupied  by  Madame  van  Bogseck.  The  porter 
then  recognized  Lucien  as  the  young  widow's  mysterious  lover, 
and  this  was  all  that  Contenson  wanted.  The  deep  but  sup- 
pressed astonishment  may  be  imagined  with  which  Lucien  and 
Carlos  received  the  porter,  whom  they  affected  to  regard  as  a 
madman  ;  they  tried  to  upset  his  convictions. 

Within  twenty-four  hours  Carlos  had  organized  a  force  which 
detected  Contenson  red-handed  in  the  act  of  espionage.  Con* 
tenson,  disguised  as  a  market-porter,  had  twice  already  brought 


238  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

home  the  provisions  purchased  in  the  morning  by  Asia,  and 
had  twice  got  into  the  little  mansion  in  the  Rue  Saint-Georges. 
Corentin,  on  his  part,  was  making  a  stir ;  but  he  was  stopped 
short  by  recognizing  the  certain  identity  of  Carlos  Herrera ; 
for  he  learned  at  once  that  this  abbe,  the  secret  envoy  of 
Ferdinand  VII.,  had  come  to  Paris  toward  the  end  of  1823. 
Still,  Corentin  thought  it  worth  while  to  study  the  reasons 
which  had  led  the  Spaniard  to  take  an  interest  in  Lucien  de 
Rubempre.  It  was  soon  clear  to  him,  beyond  doubt,  that 
Esther  had  for  five  years  been  Lucien's  mistress ;  so  the  sub- 
stitution of  the  Englishwoman  had  been  effected  for  the 
advantage  of  that  young  dandy. 

Now  Lucien  had  no  means ;  he  was  rejected  as  a  suitor  for 
Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu ;  and  he  had  just  bought  up  the 
lands  of  Rubempre  at  the  cost  of  a  million  francs. 

Corentin  very  skillfully  made  the  head  of  the  general  police 
take  the  first  steps;  and  the  prefet  de  police,  a  propos  to 
Peyrade,  informed  his  chief  that  the  appellants  in  that  affair 
had  been  in  fact  the  Comte  de  Serizy  and  Lucien  de  Ru- 
bempre. 

"  We  have  it!  "  cried  Peyrade  and  Corentin. 

The  two  friends  had  laid  plans  in  a  moment. 

"  This  hussy,"  said  Corentin,  "  has  had  intimacies;  she  must 
have  some  women  friends.  Among  them  we  shall  certainly 
find  one  or  another  who  is  down  on  her  luck  ;  one  of  us  must 
play  the  part  of  a  rich  foreigner  and  take  her  up.  We  will 
throw  them  together.  They  always  want  something  of  each 
other  in  the  game  of  lovers,  and  we  shall  then  be  in  the 
citadel." 

Peyrade  naturally  proposed  to  assume  his  disguise  as  an 
Englishman.  The  wild  life  he  should  lead  during  the  time 
that  it  would  take  to  disentangle  the  plot  of  which  he  had 
been  the  victim  smiled  on  his  fancy ;  while  Corentin,  grown 
old  in  his  functions,  and  weakly  too,  did  not  care  for  it. 
Disguised  as  a  mulatto,  Contenson  at  once  evaded  Carlos' 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  239 

force.  Just  three  days  before  Peyrade's  meeting  with  Madame 
du  Val-Noble  in  the  Champs-Elysees,  this  last  of  the  agents 
employed  by  de  Sartine  and  Lenoir  had  arrived,  provided 
with  a  passport,  at  the  Hotel  Mirabeau,  Rue  de  le  Paix, 
having  come  from  the  colonies  via  Havre,  in  a  traveling  chaise, 
as  mud-splashed  as  though  it  had  really  come  from  le  Havre, 
instead  of  no  farther  than  by  the  road  from  Saint-Denis  to 
Paris. 

Carlos  Herrera,  on  his  part,  had  his  passport  vised  at  the 
Spanish  embassy,  and  arranged  everything  at  the  Quai  Mala- 
quais  to  start  for  Madrid.  And  this  is  why :  Within  a  few 
days  Esther  was  to  become  the  owner  of  the  house  in  the  Rue 
Saint-Georges  and  of  stock  yielding  thirty  thousand  francs  a 
year ;  Europe  and  Asia  were  quite  cunning  enough  to  per- 
suade her  to  sell  this  stock  and  privately  transmit  the  money 
to  Lucien.  Thus  Lucien,  proclaiming  himself  rich  through 
his  sister's  liberality,  would  pay  the  remainder  of  the  price 
of  the  Rubempre  estates.  Of  this  transaction  no  one  could 
complain.  Esther  alone  could  betray  herself;  but  she  would 
die  rather  than  blink  an  eyelash. 

Clotilde  had  appeared  at  church  with  a  little  pink  kerchief 
round  her  crane's  neck,  so  she  had  won  her  game  at  the 
Hotel  de  Grandlieu.  The  shares  in  the  Omnibus  Company 
were  already  worth  thrice  their  initial  value.  Carlos,  by  dis- 
appearing for  a  few  days,  would  put  malice  off  the  scent. 
Human  prudence  had  foreseen  everything ;  no  miscarriage  was 
possible.  The  false  Spaniard  was  to  start  on  the  morrow  of 
the  day  when  Peyrade  met  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  But  that 
very  night,  at  two  in  the  morning,  Asia  came  in  a  hack  to 
the  Quai  Malaquais,  and  found  the  stoker  of  the  machine 
smoking  in  his  room,  and  reconsidering  all  the  points  of  the 
situation  here  stated  in  a  few  words,  like  an  author  going  over 
a  page  of  his  book  to  discover  any  faults  to  be  corrected. 
Such  a  man  would  not  allow  himself  a  second  time  such  an 
oversight  as  that  of  the  porter  in  the  Rue  Taitbout. 


240  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Paccard,"  whispered  Asia  in  her  master's  ear,  "  recog- 
nized Contenson  yesterday,  at  half-past  two,  in  the  Champs- 
Elysees,  disguised  as  a  mulatto  servant  to  an  Englishman,  who 
for  the  last  three  days  has  been  seen  walking  in  the  Champs- 
Elys^es,  watching  Esther.  Paccaiu  knew  the  hound  by  his 
eyes,  as  I  did  when  he  dressed  up  as  a  market-porter.  Pac- 
card drove  the  girl  home,  taking  a  round  so  as  not  to  lose 
sight  of  the  wretch.  Contenson  is  at  the  Hotel  Mirabeau ; 
but  he  exchanged  so  many  signs  of  intelligence  with  the 
Englishman  that  Paccard  says  the  other  cannot  possibly  be  an 
Englishman." 

"We  have  a  gadfly  behind  us,"  said  Carlos.  "  I  will  not 
leave  till  the  day  after  to-morrow.  That  Contenson  is  cer- 
tainly the  man  who  sent  the  porter  after  us  from  the  Rue 
Taitbout ;  we  must  ascertain  whether  this  sham  Englishman  is 
our  foe." 

At  noon  Mr.  Samuel  Johnson's  black  servant  was  solemnly 
waiting  on  his  master,  who  always  breakfasted  too  heartily, 
with  a  purpose.  Peyrade  wished  to  pass  for  a  tippling  Eng- 
lishman ;  he  never  went  out  till  he  was  half-seas  over.  He 
wore  black  cloth  gaiters  up  to  his  knees,  and  padded  to 
make  his  legs  look  stouter ;  his  trousers  were  lined  with  the 
thickest  fustian ;  his  vest  was  buttoned  to  the  chin  ;  a  blue 
handkerchief  wrapped  his  throat  up  to  his  cheeks ;  a  red 
scratch  wig  hid  half  his  forehead,  and  he  had  added  nearly 
three  inches  to  his  height ;  in  short,  the  oldest  frequenter  of 
the  Cafe  David  could  not  have  recognized  him.  From  his 
square-cut  coat  of  black  cloth  with  full  skirts  he  might  have 
been  taken  for  an  English  millionaire. 

Contenson  made  a  show  of  the  cold  insolence  of  a  nabob's 
confidential  servant ;  he  was  taciturn,  abrupt,  scornful,  and 
uncommunicative,  and  indulged  in  fierce  exclamations  and 
uncouth  gestures. 

Peyrade  was  finishing  his  second  bottle  when  one  of  the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  241 

hotel  waiters  unceremoniously  showed  in  a  man  in  whom  Pey- 
rade  and  Contenson  both  at  once  discerned  a  gendarme  in 
mufti. 

"Monsieur  Peyrade,"  said  the  gendarme  to  the  nabob, 
speaking  in  his  ear,  "my  instructions  are  to  take  you  to  the 
prefecture." 

Peyrade,  without  saying  a  word,  rose  and  took  down  his 
hat. 

"You  will  find  a  hackney-coach  at  the  door,"  said  the  man 
as  they  went  downstairs.  "The  prefect  thought  of  arresting 
you,  but  he  decided  on  sending  for  you  to  ask  some  explana- 
tion of  your  conduct  through  the  peace-officer  whom  you 
will  find  in  the  coach." 

"Shall  I  ride  with  you?"  asked  the  gendarme  of  the 
peace-officer  when  Peyrade  had  got  in. 

"No,"  replied  the  other;  "tell  the  coachman  quietly  to 
drive  to  the  prefecture." 

Peyrade  and  Carlos  were  now  face  to  face  in  the  coach. 
Carlos  had  a  stiletto  under  his  hand.  The  coach-driver  was 
a  man  he  could  trust,  quite  capable  of  allowing  Carlos  to  get 
out  without  seeing  him,  or  being  surprised,  on  arriving  at  his 
journey's  end,  to  find  a  dead  body  in  his  cab.  No  inquiries 
are  ever  made  about  a  spy.  The  law  almost  always  leaves 
such  murders  unpunished,  it  is  so  difficult  to  know  the  rights 
of  the  case. 

Peyrade  looked  with  his  keenest  eye  at  the  magistrate  sent 
to  examine  him  by  the  prefect  of  police.  Carlos  struck  him 
as  satisfactory :  a  bald  head,  deeply  wrinkled  at  the  back, 
and  powdered  hair ;  a  pair  of  very  light  gold  spectacles,  with 
double-green  glasses  over  weak  eyes,  with  red  brims,  evidently 
needing  care.  These  eyes  seemed  the  trace  of  some  squalid 
malady.  A  cotton  shirt  with  a  flat-pleated  frill,  a  shabby 
black  satin  vest,  the  trousers  of  a  man  of  law,  black  spun-silk 
stockings,  and  shoes  tied  with  ribbon  ;  a  long  black  overcoat, 
cheap  gloves,  black,  and  worn  for  ten  days,  and  a  gold  watch- 
15 


242  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

chain — in  every  point  the  lower  grade  of  magistrate  known 
by  a  perversion  of  terms  as  a  peace-officer. 

"  My  dear  Monsieur  Peyrade,  I  regret  to  find  such  a  man 
as  you  the  object  of  surveillance,  and  that  you  should  act  so 
as  to  justify  it.  Your  disguise  is  not  to  the  prefect's  taste.  If 
you  fancy  that  you  can  thus  escape  our  vigilance,  YOU  are 
mistaken.  You  traveled  from  England  by  way  of  Beaumont- 
sur-Oise,  no  doubt." 

"Beaumont-sur-Oise?"  repeated  Peyrade. 

"  Or  by  Saint-Denis  ?  "  said  the  sham  lawyer. 

Peyrade  lost  his  presence  of  mind.  The  question  must  be 
answered.  Now  any  reply  might  be  dangerous.  In  the 
affirmative  it  was  farcical ;  in  the  negative,  if  this  man  knew 
the  truth,  it  would  be  Peyrade's  ruin. 

"  He  is  a  sharp  fellow,"  thought  he. 

He  tried  to  look  at  the  man  and  smile,  and  he  gave  him 
a  smile  for  an  answer ;  the  smile  passed  muster  without  pro- 
test. 

"For  what  purpose  have  you  disguised  yourself,  taken 
rooms  at  the  Mirabeau,  and  dressed  Contenson  as  a  black 
servant?"  asked  the  peace-officer. 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet  may  do  what  he  chooses  with  me,  but 
I  owe  no  account  of  my  actions  to  any  one  but  my  chief," 
said  Peyrade  with  dignity. 

"  If  you  mean  me  to  infer  that  you  are  acting  by  the  orders 
of  the  general  police,"  said  the  other  coldly,  "  we  will  change 
our  route,  and  drive  to  the  Rue  de  Crenelle  instead  of  the 
Rue  de  Jerusalem.  I  have  clear  instructions  with  regard  to 
you.  But  be  careful !  You  are  not  in  any  deep  disgrace, 
and  you  may  spoil  your  own  game  in  a  moment.  As  for  me 
— I  owe  you  no  grudge.  Come  ;  tell  me  the  truth." 

"Well,  then,  this  is  the  truth,"  said  Peyrade,  with  a  glance 
at  his  Cerberus'  red  eyes. 

The  sham  lawyer's  face  remained  expressionless,  impassible  ; 
he  was  doing  his  business,  all  truths  were  the  same  to  him,  he 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  243 

looked  as  though  he  suspected  the  prefect  of  some  caprice. 
Prefets  have  their  little  tantrums. 

"  I  have  fallen  desperately  in  love  with  a  woman — the  mis- 
tress of  that  stock-broker  who  is  gone  abroad  for  his  own 
pleasure  and  the  displeasure  of  his  creditors — Falleix." 

"  Madame  du  Val-Noble  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Peyrade.  "To  keep  her  for  a  month, 
which  will  not  cost  me  more  than  a  thousand  crowns,  I  have 
got  myself  up  as  a  nabob  and  taken  Contenson  as  my  servant. 
This  is  so  absolutely  true,  monsieur,  that  if  you  like  to  leave 
me  in  the  coach,  where  I  will  wait  for  you,  on  my  honor  as 
an  old  commissioner-general  of  police,  you  can  go  to  the  hotel 
and  question  Contenson.  Not  only  will  Contenson  confirm 
what  I  have  the  honor  of  stating,  but  you  may  see  Madame 
du  Val-Noble's  waiting-maid,  who  is  to  come  this  morning  to 
signify  her  mistress'  acceptance  of  my  offers,  or  the  conditions 
she  makes. 

"An  old  monkey  knows  what  grimaces  mean  :  I  have  offered 
her  a  thousand  francs  a  month  and  a  carriage — that  comes  to 
fifteen  hundred;  five  hundred  francs'  worth  of  presents,  and 
as  much  again  in  some  outings,  dinners,  and  play-going;  you 
see,  I  am  not  deceiving  you  by  a  centime  when  I  say  a  thou- 
sand crowns.  A  man  of  my  age  may  very  well  spend  a  thou- 
sand crowns  on  his  last  fancy." 

"Bless  me,  Papa  Peyrade!  and  you  still  care  enough  for 

women  to ?  But  you  are  deceiving  me.  I  am  sixty 

myself,  and  I  can  do  without  'em.  However,  if  the  case  is 
as  you  state  it,  I  quite  understand  that  you  should  have  found 
it  necessary  to  get  yourself  up  as  a  foreigner  to  indulge  your 
fancy." 

"You  can  understand  that  Peyrade,  or  old  Canquoelle  of 
the  Rue  des  Moineaux " 

"Ay,  neither  of  them  would  have  suited  Madame  du  Val- 
Noble,"  Carlos  put  in,  delighted  to  have  picked  up  Can- 
quoelle's  address.  "Before  the  Revolution,"  he  went  on, 


244  THE   HARLOT'S  PfiOGJ?£SS. 

"  I  had  for  my  mistress  a  woman  who  had  previously  been 
kept  by  the  gentleman-in-waiting,  as  they  then  called  the 
executioner.  One  evening  at  the  play  she  pricked  herself 
with  a  pin,  and  cried  out — a  customary  ejaculation  in  those 
days — 'Ah  !  Bourreau  !  '  on  which  her  neighbor  asked  her  if 
this  were  a  reminiscence?  Well,  my  dear  Peyiade,  she  cast 
off  her  man  by  that  speech. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  no  wish  to  expose  yourself  to  such  a 
slap  in  the  face.  Madame  du  Val-Noble  is  a  woman  for  gentle- 
men. I  saw  her  once  at  the  opera,  and  thought  her  very 
handsome. 

"  Tell  the  driver  to  go  back  to  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  my  dear 
Peyrade.  I  will  go  upstairs  with  you  to  your  rooms  and  see 
for  myself.  A  verbal  report  will  no  doubt  be  enough  for 
Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

Carlos  took  a  snuff-box  from  his  side-pocket — a  black  snuff- 
box lined  with  silver-gilt — and  offered  it  to  Peyrade  with  an 
impulse  of  delightful  good-fellowship.  Peyrade  said  to  him- 
self— 

"And  these  are  their  agents  !  Good  heavens  !  what  would 
Monsieur  Lenoir  say  if  he  could  come  back  to  life,  or  Mon- 
sieur de  Sartines?" 

"  That  is  part  of  the  truth,  no  doubt,  but  it  is  not  all,"  said 
the  sham  lawyer,  sniffing  up  his  pinch  of  snuff.  "You  have 
had  a  finger  in  the  Baron  de  Nucingen's  love  affairs,  and  you 
wish,  no  doubt,  to  entangle  him  in  some  slip-knot.  You 
missed  fire  with  the  pistol,  and  you  are  aiming  at  him  with  a 
field-piece.  Madame  du  Val-Noble  is  a  friend  of  Madame  de 
Champy's " 

"Devil  take  it.  I  must  take  care  not  to  founder,"  said 
Peyrade  to  himself.  "  He  is  a  better  man  than  I  thought 
him.  He  is  playing  me  ;  he  talks  of  letting  me  go,  and  he 
goes  on  making  me  blab." 

"Well?"  asked  Carlos  with  a  magisterial"  air. 

"  Monsieur,  it  is  true  that  I  have  been  so  foolish  as  to  seek 


THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  245 

a  woman  in  Monsieur  de  Nucingen's  behoof,  because  he  was 
half  mad  with  love.  That  is  the  cause  of  my  being  out  of 
favor,  for  it  would  seem  that  quite  unconsciously  I  touched 
some  important  interests." 

The  officer  of  the  law  remained  immovable. 

"But  after  fifty-two  years'  experience,"  Peyrade  went  on, 
"  I  know  the  police  well  enough  to  have  held  my  hand  after 
the  blowing  up  I  had  from  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  who,  no  doubt, 
was  right " 

"  Then  you  would  give  up  this  fancy  if  Monsieur  le  Prefet 
required  it  of  you  ?  That,  I  think,  would  be  the  best  proof 
you  could  give  of  the  sincerity  of  what  you  say." 

"  He  is  going  it !  he  is  going  it !  "  thought  Peyrade.  "Ah  ! 
by  all  that's  holy,  the  police  to-day  is  a  match  for  that  of 
Monsieur  Lenoir." 

"Give  it  up?"  said  he  aloud.  "  I  will  wait  till  I  have 
Monsieur  le  Prefet's  orders.  But  here  we  are  at  the  hotel,  if 
you  wish  to  come  up." 

"  Where  do  you  find  the  money  ?  "  said  Carlos  point-blank, 
with  a  sagacious  glance. 

"Monsieur,  I  have  a  friend " 

"Get  along,"  said  Carlos;  "go  and  tell  that  story  to  an 
examining  magistrate  !  " 

This  audacious  stroke  on  Carlos'  part  was  the  outcome  of 
one  of  those  calculations,  so  simple  that  none  but  a  man  of 
his  temper  would  have  thought  it  out. 

At  a  very  early  hour  he  had  sent  Lucien  to  Madame  de 
Serizy's.  Lucien  had  begged  the  count's  private  secretary — 
as  from  the  count — to  go  and  obtain  from  the  prefect  of  police 
full  particulars  concerning  the  agent  employed  by  the  Baron 
de  Nucingen.  The  secretary  came  back  provided  with  a  note 
concerning  Peyrade,  a  copy  of  the  summary  noted  on  the  back 
of  his  record : 

"In  the  police  force  since  1778,  having  come  to  Paris  from 
Avignon  two  years  previously. 


246  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"Without  money  or  character;  possessed  of  certain  State 
secrets. 

"Lives  in  the  Rue  des  Moineaux  under  the  name  of  Can- 
quoelle,  the  name  of  a  little  estate  where  his  family  resides,  in 
the  department  of  Vaucluse ;  very  respectable  people. 

"  Was  lately  inquired  for  by  a  grand-nephew  named  Th6o- 
dore  de  la  Peyrade.  (See  the  report  of  an  agent,  No.  37  of 
the  Documents.)  " 

"  He  must  be  the  man  to  whom  Contenson  is  playing  the 
mulatto  servant!"  cried  Carlos,  when  Lucien  returned  with 
other  information  beside  this  note. 

Within  three  hours  this  man,  with  the  energy  of  a  com- 
mander-in-chief,  had  found,  by  Paccard's  help,  an  innocent 
accomplice  capable  of  playing  the  part  of  a  gendarme  in  dis- 
guise, and  had  got  himself  up  as  a  peace-officer.  Three  times 
in  the  coach  he  had  thought  of  killing  Peyrade,  but  he  had 
made  it  a  rule  never  to  commit  a  murder  with  his  own  hand ; 
he  promised  himself  that  he  would  get  rid  of  Peyrade  all  in 
good  time  by  pointing  him  out  as  a  millionaire  to  some  released 
convicts  about  the  town. 

Peyrade  and  his  Mentor,  as  they  went  in,  heard  Contenson's 
voice  arguing  with  Madame  du  Val-Noble's  maid.  Peyrade 
signed  to  Carlos  to  remain  in  the  outer  room,  with  a  look  meant 
to  convey:  "Thus  you  can  assure  yourself  of  my  sincerity." 

"Madame  agrees  to  everything,"  said  Adele.  "Madame 
is  at  this  moment  calling  on  a  friend,  Madame  de  Champy, 
who  has  some  rooms  in  the  Rue  Taitbout  on  her  hands  for  a 
year,  full  of  furniture,  which  she  will  let  her  have,  no  doubt. 
Madame  can  receive  Mr.  Johnson  more  suitably  there,  for  the 
furniture  is  still  very  decent,  and  monsieur  might  buy  it  for 
madame  by  coming  to  an  agreement  with  Madame  de  Champy. " 

"Very  good,  my  girl.  If  this  is  not  a  job  of  fleecing,  it  is 
a  bit  of  the  wool,"  said  the  mulatto  to  the  astonished  woman. 
"However,  we  will  go  shares " 

"  That  is  your  darkey  all  over  ! "  cried  Mademoiselle  Adele. 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  247 

"  If  your  nabob  is  a  nabob,  he  can  very  well  afford  to  give 
madarae  the  furniture.  The  lease  ends  in  April,  1830  ;  your 
nabob  may  renew  it  if  he  likes." 

"I  am  quite  willing,"  said  Peyrade,  speaking  French  with 
a  strong  English  accent,  as  he  came  in  and  tapped  the  woman 
on  the  shoulder. 

He  cast  a  knowing  look  back  at  Carlos,  who  replied  by  an 
assenting  nod,  understanding  that  the  nabob  was  to  keep  up 
his  part. 

But  the  scene  suddenly  changed  its  aspect  at  the  entrance 
of  a  person  over  whom  neither  Carlos  nor  Peyrade  had  the 
least  power.  Corentin  suddenly  came  in.  He  had  found  the 
door  open,  and  looked  in  as  he  went  by  to  see  how  his  old 
friend  played  his  part  as  nabob. 

"The  prefect  is  still  bullying  me!"  said  Peyrade  in  a 
whisper  to  Corentin.  "  He  has  found  me  out  as  a  nabob." 

"We  will  spill  the  prefect,"  Corentin  muttered  in  reply. 

Then  after  a  cool  bow  he  stood  darkly  scrutinizing  the 
magistrate. 

"Stay  here  till  I  return,"  said  Carlos;  "I  will  go  to  the 
prefecture.  If  you  do  not  see  me  again,  you  may  go  your 
own  way." 

Having  said  this  in  an  undertone  to  Peyrade,  so  as  not  to 
humiliate  him  in  the  presence  of  the  waiting-maid,  Carlos 
went  away,  not  caring  to  remain  under  the  eye  of  the  new- 
comer, in  whom  he  detected  one  of  those  fair-haired,  blue- 
eyed  men,  coldly  terrifying. 

"That  is  the  peace-officer  sent  after  me  by  the  prefect,"  said 
Peyrade. 

"That?"  said  Corentin.  "You  have  walked  into  a  trap. 
That  man  has  three  packs  of  cards  in  his  shoes ;  you  can  see 
that  by  the  place  of  his  foot  in  the  shoe;  beside,  a  peace- 
officer  need  wear  no  disguise." 

Corentin  hurried  downstairs  to  verify  his  suspicions;  Carlos 
was  getting  into  the  fly. 


248  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Halloo  !  Monsieur  1'Abbe  !  "  cried  Corentin. 

Carlos  looked  round,  saw  Corentin,  and  got  in  quickly. 
Still,  Corentin  had  time  to  say — 

"That  was  all  I  wanted  to  know.  Quai  Malaquais,"  he 
shouted  to  the  driver  with  diabolical  mockery  in  his  tone  and 
expression. 

"I  am  done!"  said  Jacques  Collin  to  himself.  "They 
have  got  me.  I  must  get  ahead  of  them  by  sheer  pace,  and, 
above  all,  find  out  what  they  want  of  us." 

Corentin  had  seen  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera  five  or  six  times, 
and  the  man's  eyes  were  unforgettable.  Corentin  had  sus- 
pected him  at  once  from  the  cut  of  his  shoulders,  then  by  his 
puffy  face,  and  the  trick  of  three  inches  of  added  height 
gained  by  a  heel  inside  the  shoe. 

"Ah!  old  fellow,  they  have  drawn  you,"  said  Corentin, 
finding  no  one  in  the  room  but  Peyrade  and  Contenson. 

"Who?"  cried  Peyrade,  with  metallic  hardness;  "I  will 
spend  my  last  days  in  putting  him  on  a  gridiron  and  turning 
him  on  it." 

"It  is  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera,  the  Corentin  of  Spain,  as 
I  suppose.  This  explains  everything.  The  Spaniard  is  a 
demon  of  the  first  water,  who  has  tried  to  make  a  fortune  for 
that  little  young  man  by  coining  money  out  of  a  pretty  bag- 
gage's bolster.  It  is  your  own  lookout  if  you  think  you  can 
measure  your  skill  with  a  man  who  seems  to  me  the  very  devil 
to  deal  with." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Contenson,  "he  fingered  the  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  the  day  when  Esther  was  arrested ; 
he  was  in  the  cab.  I  remember  those  eyes,  that  brow,  and 
those  marks  of  the  smallpox." 

"Oh !  what  a  fortune  my  Lydie  might  have  had  !  "  cried 
Peyrade. 

"You  may  still  play  the  nabob,"  said  Corentin.  "To 
keep  an  eye  on  Esther  you  must  keep  up  her  intimacy  with 
Val-Noble.  She  was  really  Lucien's  mistress." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  249 

"  They  have  got  more  than  five  hundred  thousand  francs 
out  of  Nucingen  already,"  said  Contenson. 

"And  they  want  as  much  again,"  Corentin  went  on. 
"  The  Rubempre  estate  is  to  cost  a  million.  Daddy,"  added 
he,  slapping  Peyrade  on  the  shoulder,  "you  may  get  more 
than  a  hundred  thousand  francs  to  settle  on  Lydie." 

"Don't  tell  me  that,  Corentin.  If  your  scheme  should 
fail,  I  cannot  tell  what  I  might  not  do " 

"You  will  have  it  by  to-morrow  perhaps!  The  abbe,  my 
dear  fellow,  is  most  astute ;  we  shall  have  to  kiss  his  spurs ; 
he  is  a  very  superior  devil.  But  I  have  him  sure  enough. 
He  is  not  a  fool  and  he  will  knock  under.  Try  not  to  be  a 
gaby  as  well  as  a  nabob,  and  fear  nothing." 

In  the  evening  of  this  day,  when  the  opposing  forces  had 
met  face  to  face  on  level  ground,  Lucien  spent  the  evening  at 
the  Hotel  Grandlieu.  The  party  was  a  large  one.  In  the 
face  of  all  the  assembly,  the  duchess  kept  Lucien  at  her  side 
for  some  time,  and  was  most  kind  to  him. 

"  You  are  going  away  for  a  little  while  ?  "  said  she. 

"Yes,  Madame  la  Duchesse.  My  sister,  in  her  anxiety  to 
promote  my  marriage,  has  made  great  sacrifices,  and  I  have 
been  enabled  to  repurchase  the  lands  of  the  Rubempres,  to 
reconstitute  the  whole  estate.  But  I  have  found  in  my  Paris 
lawyer  a  very  clever  man,  who  has  managed  to  save  me  from 
the  extortionate  terms  that  the  holders  would  have  asked  if 
they  had  known  the  name  of  the  purchaser." 

"Is  there  a  castle?"  asked  Clotilde,  with  too  eager  a 
smile. 

" There  is  something  which  might  be  called  a  castle;  but 
the  wiser  plan  would  be  to  use  the  building  materials  in  the 
construction  of  a  modern  residence." 

Clotilde's  eyes  blazed  with  happiness  above  her  smile  of 
satisfaction. 

"You  must  play  a  rubber  with  my  father  this  evening," 


250  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

said  she,  in  a  low  voice.     "In  a  fortnight  I  hope  you  will  be 
asked  to  dinner."  '*%*•" 

"Well,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  Due  de  Grandlieu,  "I  am 
told  that  you  have  bought  the  estate  of  Rubempre.  I  con- 
gratulate you.  It  is  an  answer  to  those  who  say  you  are  in 
debt.  We  bigwigs,  like  France  or  England,  are  allowed  to 
have  a  public  debt ;  but  men  of  no  fortune,  beginners,  you 
see,  may  not  assume  that  privilege " 

"Indeed,  Monsieur  le  Due,  I  still  owe  five  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  on  my  land." 

"  Well,  well,  you  must  marry  a  wife  who  can  bring  you  the 
money;  but  you  will  have  some  difficulty  in  finding  a  match 
with  such  a  fortune  in  our  Faubourg,  where  daughters  do  not 
get  large  dowries." 

"Their  name  is  dowry  enough,"  said  Lucien. 

"We  are  only  three  wisk  players — Maufrigneuse,  d'Espard, 
and  I — will  you  make  the  fourth?"  said  the  duke,  pointing 
to  the  card-table. 

Clotilde  came  to  the  table  to  watch  her  father's  game. 

"She  expects  me  to  believe  that  she  means  this  attention 
for  me,"  said  the  duke,  patting  his  daughter's  hands,  and 
looking  round  at  Lucien,  who  remained  quite  grave. 

Lucien,  Monsieur  d'Espard's  partner,  lost  twenty  louis. 

"  My  dear  mother,"  said  Clotilde  to  the  duchess,  "  he  was 
so  judicious  as  to  lose." 

At   eleven    o'clock,    after   a   few   affectionate  words   with 
Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu,  Lucien  went  home  and  to  bed, 
thinking  of  the  complete  triumph  he  was  to  enjoy  a  month, 
hence  ;  for  he  had  not  a  doubt  of  being  accepted  as  Clotilde's 
lover,  and  married  before  the  Lent  of  1830. 

On  the  morrow,  when  Lucien  was  smoking  his  cigarettes 
after  breakfast,  sitting  with  Carlos,  who  had  become  much  de- 
pressed, M.  de  Saint-Esteve  was  announced — what  a  touch  of 
irony — who  begged  to  see  either  the  Abbe'  Carlos  Herrera  or 
Monsieur  Lucien  de  RubemprS. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  251 

"Was  he  told  downstairs  that  I  had  left  Paris?"  cried  the 
abbe. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  groom. 

"Well,  then,  you  must  see  the  man,"  said  he  to  Lucien. 
"But  do  not  say  a  single  compromising  word,  do  not  let  a 
sign  of  surprise  escape  you.  It  is  the  enemy." 

"You  will  overhear  me,"  said  Lucien. 

Carlos  hid  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  through  the  crack  of 
the  door  he  saw  Corentin,  whom  he  recognized  only  by  his 
voice,  such  powers  of  transformation  did  the  great  man  pos- 
sess. This  time  Corentin  looked  like  an  old  paymaster- 
general. 

"  I  have  not  the  honor  of  being  known  to  you,  monsieur," 
Corentin  began,  "but " 

"Excuse  my  interrupting  you,  monsieur,  but " 

"But  the  matter  in  point  is  your  marriage  to  Mademoiselle 
Clotilde  de  Grandlieu — which  will  never  take  place,"  Coren- 
tin added  eagerly. 

Lucien  sat  down  and  made  no  reply. 

"  You  are  in  the  power  of  a  man  who  is  able  and  willing  and 
ready  to  prove  to  the  Due  de  Grandlieu  that  the  lands  of 
Rubempr6  are  to  be  paid  for  with  the  money  that  a  fool  has 
given  your  mistress,  Mademoiselle  Esther,"  Corentin  went  on. 
"  It  will  be  quite  easy  to  find  the  minutes  of  the  legal  opinions 
in  virtue  of  which  Mademoiselle  Esther  was  summoned ;  there 
are  ways  too  of  making  d'Estourny  speak.  The  very  clever 
manoeuvres  employed  against  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  will  be 
brought  to  light. 

"As  yet  all  can  be  arranged.  Pay  down  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  and  you  will  have  peace.  All  this  is  no  concern 
of  mine.  I  am  only  the  agent  of  those  who  levy  this  black- 
mail;  nothing  more." 

Corentin  might  have  talked  for  an  hour ;  Lucien  smoked 
his  cigarette  with  an  air  of  perfect  indifference. 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  he,  when  Corentin  paused,  "  I  do  not 


252  THE  HARLOT^S  PROGRESS. 

want  to  know  who  you  are,  for  men  who  undertake  such  jobs 
as  these  have  no  name — at  any  .late,  in  my  vocabulary.  I  have 
allowed  you  to  talk  at  your  leisure;  I  am  at  home.  You 
seem  to  me  not  bereft  of  commonsense;  listen  to  my 
dilemma." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Lucien  met  Corentin's 
cat-like  eye  fixed  on  him  with  a  perfect  icy  stare. 

"  Either  you  are  building  on  facts  that  are  absolutely  false, 
and  I  need  pay  no  heed  to  them,"  said  Lucien ;  "or  you  are 
in  the  right;  and  in  that  case,  by  giving  you  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  I  put  you  in  a  position  to  ask  me  for  as  many 
hundred  thousand  francs  as  your  employer  can  find  Saint- 
Esteves  to  ask  for  them. 

"However,  to  put  an  end,  once  for  all,  to  your  kind  inter- 
vention, I  would  have  you  know  that  I,  Lucien  de  Rubempre, 
fear  no  one.  I  have  no  part  in  the  jobbery  of  which  you 
speak.  If  the  Grandlieus  make  difficulties,  there  are  other 
young  ladies  of  very  good  family  ready  to  be  married.  After 
all,  it  is  no  loss  to  me  if  I  remain  single,  especially  if,  as  you 
imagine,  I  deal  in  blank  bills  to  such  advantage." 

"If  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Carlos  Herrera " 

"  Monsieur,"  Lucien  put  in,  "  the  Abbe  Herrera  is  at  this 
moment  on  the  way  to  Spain.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with  my 
marriage,  my  interests  are  no  concern  of  his.  That  remark- 
able statesman  was  good  enough  to  assist  me  at  one  time  with 
his  advice,  but  he  has  reports  to  present  to  his  majesty  the 
King  of  Spain  ;  if  you  have  anything  to  say  to  him,  I  recom- 
mend you  to  set  out  for  Madrid." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Corentin  plainly,  "you  will  never  be 
Mademoiselle  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu's  husband." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  her  !  "  replied  Lucien,  impatiently 
urging  Corentin  toward  the  door. 

"You  have  fully  considered  the  matter?"  asked  Corentin 
coldly. 

"Monsieur,  I  do  not  recognize  that  you  have  any  right 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  253 

either  to  meddle  in  my  affairs  or  to  make  me  waste  a  ciga- 
rette," said  Lucien,  throwing  away  his  cigarette  that  had  gone 
out. 

"Good-day,  monsieur,"  said  Corentin.  "We  shall  not 
meet  again.  But  there  will  certainly  be  a  moment  in  your 
life  when  you  would  give  half  your  fortune  to  have  called  me 
back  from  these  stairs." 

In  answer  to  this  threat,  Carlos  made  a  sign  of  cutting  a 
man's  throat. 

"  Now  to  business  !  "  cried  he,  looking  at  Lucien,  who  was 
as  white  as  ashes  after  this  dreadful  interview. 

If  among  the  small  number  of  my  readers  who  take  an 
interest  in  the  moral  and  philosophical  side  of  this  book  there 
should  be  only  one  capable  of  believing  that  the  Baron  de 
Nucingen  was  happy,  that  one  would  prove  how  difficult  it  is 
to  explain  the  heart  of  a  courtesan  by  any  kind  of  physiological 
formula.  Esther  was  resolved  to  make  the  poor  millionaire 
pay  dearly  for  what  he  called  his  day  of  triumph.  And  at 
the  beginning  of  February,  1830,  the  house-warming  party  had 
not  yet  been  given  in  the  "  little  palace." 
.  "Well,"  said  Esther  in  confidence  to  her  friends,  who 
repeated  it  to  the  baron,  "  I  shall  open  house  at  the  Carnival, 
and  I  mean  to  make  my  man  as  happy  as  a  cock  in  plaster." 

The  phrase  became  proverbial  among  women  of  her  kidney. 

The  baron  gave  vent  to  much  lamentation  ;  like  married 
men,  he  made  himself  very  ridiculous,  he  began  to  complain 
to  his  intimate  friends,  and  his  dissatisfaction  was  generally 
known. 

Esther,  meanwhile,  took  quite  a  serious  view  of  her  position 
as  the  Pompadour  of  this  prince  of  speculators.  She  had 
given  two  or  three  small  evening  parties,  solely  to  get  Lucien 
into  the  house.  Lousteau,  Rastignac,  du  Tillet,  Bixiou, 
Nathan,  the  Comte  de  Brambourg — all  the  cream  of  the  dissi- 
pated crew — frequented  her  drawing-room.  And,  as  leading 


254  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

ladies  in  the  piece  she  was  playing,  Esther  accepted  Tullia, 
Florentine,  Fanny  Beaupre,  and  Florine — two  dancers  and 
two  actresses — beside  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  Nothing  can 
be  more  dreary  than  a  courtesan's  domicile  without  the  spice 
of  rivalry,  the  display  of  dress,  and  some  variety  of  type. 

In  six  weeks  Esther  had  become  the  wittiest,  the  most 
amusing,  the  loveliest,  and  the  most  elegant  of  those  female 
pariahs  who  form  the  class  of  kept  women.  Placed  on  the 
pedestal  that  became  her,  she  enjoyed  all  the  delights  of 
vanity  which  fascinate  women  in  general,  but  still  as  one  who 
is  raised  above  her  caste  by  a  secret  thought.  She  cherished 
in  her  heart  an  image  of  herself  which  she  gloried  in,  while  it 
made  her  blush ;  the  hour  when  she  must  abdicate  was  ever 
present  to  her  consciousness ;  thus  she  lived  a  double  life,  really 
scorning  herself.  Her  sarcastic  remarks  were  tinged  by  the 
temper  which  was  roused  in  her  by  the  intense  contempt  felt 
by  the  Angel  of  Love,  hidden  in  the  courtesan,  for  the  dis- 
graceful and  odious  part  played  by  the  body  in  the  presence, 
as  it  were,  of  the  soul.  At  once  actor  and  spectator,  victim 
and  judge,  she  was  a  living  realization  of  the  beautiful  Arabian 
tales,  in  which  a  noble  creature  lies  hidden  under  a  degrading 
form,  and  of  which  the  type  is  the  story  of  Nebuchadnezzar  in 
the  book  of  books — the  Bible.  Having  granted  herself  a 
lease  of  life  till  the  day  after  her  infidelity,  the  victim  might 
surely  play  awhile  with  the  executioner. 

Moreover,  the  enlightenment  that  had  come  to  Esther  as  to 
the  secretly  disgraceful  means  by  which  the  baron  had  made 
his  colossal  fortune  relieved  her  of  every  scruple.  She  could 
play  the  part  of  Ate,  the  goddess  of  vengeance,  as  Carlos  said. 
And  so  she  was,  by  turns,  enchanting  and  odious  to  the  banker, 
who  lived  only  for  her.  When  the  baron  had  been  worked 
up  to  such  a  pitch  of  suffering  that  he  wanted  only  to  be  quit 
of  Esther,  she  brought  him  round  by  a  scene  of  tender  affec- 
tion. 

Herrera,  making  a  great  show  of  starting  for  Spain,  had 


THE  HARLO7^S  PROGRESS.  255 

gone  as  far  as  Tours.  He  had  sent  the  chaise  on  as  far  as 
Bordeaux,  with  a  servant  inside,  engaged  to  play  the  part  of 
master,  and  to  wait  for  him  at  Bordeaux.  Then,  returning 
by  diligence,  dressed  as  a  commercial  traveler,  he  had  secretly 
taken  up  his  abode  under  Esther's  roof,  and  thence,  aided  by 
Asia  and  Europe,  carefully  directed  all  his  machinations, 
keeping  an  eye  on  every  one,  more  especially  Corentin. 

About  a  fortnight  before  the  day  chosen  for  her  great  enter- 
tainment, which  was  to  be  given  in  the  evening  after  the  first 
opera-ball,  the  courtesan,  whose  witticisms  were  beginning  to 
make  her  feared,  happened  to  be  at  the  Italian  opera,  at  the 
back  of  a  box  which  the  baron — forced  to  give  a  box — had 
secured  in  the  lowest  tier,  in  order  to  conceal  his  mistress, 
and  not  to  flaunt  her  in  public  within  a  few  feet  of  Madame 
de  Nucingen.  Esther  had  taken  her  seat,  so  as  to  "rake" 
that  of  Madame  de  Serizy,  whom  Lucien  almost  invariably 
accompanied.  The  poor  girl  made  her  whole  happiness  centre 
in  watching  Lucien  on  Tuesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Saturdays 
by  Madame  de  Serizy's  side. 

At  about  half-past  nine  of  this  evening  Esther  saw  Lucien 
enter  the  countess'  box,  with  a  care-laden  brow,  pale,  and 
with  almost  drawn  features.  These  symptoms  of  mental  an- 
guish were  legible  only  to  Esther.  The  knowledge  of  a  man's 
countenance  is,  to  the  woman  who  loves  him,  like  that  of  the 
sea  to  a  sailor. 

"Good  God  !  what  can  be  the  matter?  What  has  hap- 
pened? Does  he  want  to  speak  with  that  imp  of  hell,  who  is 
to  him  a  guardian  angel,  and  who  lives  hidden  in  an  attic 
between  those  of  Europe  and  Asia?" 

Tormented  by  such  reflections,  Esther  scarcely  listened  to 
the  music.  Still  less,  it  may  be  believed,  did  she  listen  to 
the  baron,  who  held  one  of  his  "anchel's"  hands  in  both 
his,  talking  to  her  in  his  horrible  Polish-Jewish  accent,  a  jar- 
gon which  must  be  as  unpleasant  to  read  as  it  is  to  hear 
spoken 


256  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Esther,"  said  he,  releasing  her  hand,  and  pushing  it  away 
with  a  slight  touch  of  temper,  l^you  do  not  listen  to  me." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  baron,  you  blunder  in  love  as  you  gabble 
in  bad  French." 


"I  am  not  in  my  boudoir  here,  I  am  at  the  opera.  If  you 
were  not  a  barrel  made  by  Huret  or  Fichet,  metamorphosed 
into  a  man  by  some  trick  of  nature,  you  would  not  make  so 
much  noise  in  a  box  with  a  woman  who  is  fond  of  music.  I 
don't  listen  to  you?  I  should  think  not!  There  you  sit 
rustling  my  dress  like  a  cockroach  in  a  paper-bag,  and  making 
me  laugh  with  contempt.  You  say  to  me,  'You  are  so  pretty, 
I  should  like  to  eat  you  !  '  Old  simpleton  !  Supposing  I 
were  to  say  to  you,  '  You  are  less  intolerable  this  evening  than 
you  were  yesterday  —  we  will  go  home  ?  '  Well,  from  the 
way  you  puff  and  sigh  —  for  I  feel  you  if  I  don't  listen  to  you 
—  I  perceive  that  you  have  eaten  an  enormous  dinner,  and 
your  digestion  is  at  work.  Let  me  instruct  you  —  for  I  have 
cost  you  enough  to  give  some  advice  for  your  money  now 
and  then  —  let  me  tell  you,  my  dear  fellow,  that  a  man  whose 
digestion  is  so  troublesome  as  yours  is  not  justified  in  tell- 
ing his  mistress  that  she  is  pretty  at  unseemly  hours.  An  old 
soldier  died  of  that  very  folly  '  in  the  arms  of  Religion,'  as 
Blondet  has  it. 

"It  is  now  ten  o'clock.  You  finished  dinner  at  du  Tillet's 
at  nine  o'clock,  with  your  pigeon  the  Comte  de  Brambourg; 
you  have  millions  and  truffles  to  digest,  that's  enough  at  once. 
Come  to-morrow  night  at  ten." 

"  Vat  you  are  cruel  !  "  cried  the  baron,  recognizing  the  pro- 
found truth  of  this  medical  argument. 

"  Cruel  !  "  echoed  Esther,  still  looking  at  Lucien.  "  Have 
you  not  consulted  Bianchon,  Desplein,  old  Haudry?  Since 
you  have  had  a  glimpse  of  future  happiness,  do  you  know 
what  you  seem  like  to  me?" 

"No—  vat?" 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  257 

"A  fat  old  fellow  wrapped  in  flannel,  who  walks  every  hour 
from  his  armchair  to  the  window  to  see  if  the  thermometer 
has  risen  to  the  degree  marked  '  Silkworms /  the  temperature 
prescribed  by  his  physician." 

"  You  are  really  an  ungrateful  slut !  "  cried  the  baron,  in 
despair  at  hearing  a  tune,  which,  however,  amorous  old  men 
not  infrequently  hear  at  the  opera. 

"Ungrateful!"  retorted  Esther.  "What  have  you  given 
me  till  now  ?  A  great  deal  of  annoyance.  Come,  papa ! 
Can  I  be  proud  of  you  ?  You  !  you  are  proud  of  me ;  I  wear 
your  livery  and  badge  with  an  air.  You  paid  my  debts?  So 
you  did.  But  you  have  grabbed  so  many  millions — come, 
you  need  not  sulk ;  you  admitted  that  to  me — that  you  need 
not  think  twice  of  that.  And  this  is  your  chief  title  to  fame. 
Prostitute  and  thief,  we  couldn't  be  better  matched. 

"You  have  bought  a  splendid  cage  for  a  parrot  that  amuses 
you.  Go  and  ask  a  Brazilian  cockatoo  what  gratitude  it  owes 
to  the  man  who  placed  it  in  a  gilded  cage.  Don't  look  at  me 
like  that ;  you  are  just  like  a  Buddhist  Bonze.* 

"  Well,  you  show  your  red-and-white  cockatoo  to  all  Paris. 
You  say,  'Does  anybody  else  in  Paris  own  such  a  parrot? 
Just  hear  it  talk,  how  cleverly  it  picks  its  words ! '  If  du 
Tillet  comes  in,  it  says  at  once,  '  How  do,  little  swindler  ? ' 
Why,  you  are  as  happy  as  a  Dutchman  who  has  grown  a 
unique  tulip,  as  an  old  nabob  pensioned  off  in  Asia  by  Eng- 
land, when  a  commercial  traveler  sells  him  the  first  Swiss 
snuff-box  that  opens  in  three  places. 

"You  say  you  want  to  win  my  heart?  Well,  now,  I  will 
tell  you  how  to  do  it." 

"  Speak,  speak,  dere  is  noting  I  shall  not  do  for  you.  I 
lofe  to  be  fooled  by  you." 

"Be  young,  be  handsome,  be  like  Lucien  de  Rubempr£ 
over  there  by  your  wife,  and  you  shall  have  gratis  what  you 
can  never  buy  with  all  your  millions  !  " 

*  The  name  Europeans  give  to  Buddhist  priests. 
17 


258  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

11 1  shall  go  'vay,  for  really,  you  are  too  bat  dis  evening  !  " 
said  the  banker,  with  an  elongated  face. 

"Very  well,  good-night  then,"  said  Esther.  "Tell 
Georches  to  make  your  pillows  very  high  and  place  your  feet 
low,  for  you  look  apoplectic  this  evening.  You  cannot  say, 
my  dear,  that  I  take  no  interest  in  your  health." 

The  baron  was  standing  up,  and  held  the  door-knob  in  his 
hand. 

"  Here,  Nucingen,"  said  Esther,  with  an  imperious  gesture. 

The  baron  went  over  to  her  with  dog-like  devotion. 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  me  very  sweet,  and  giving  you  sugar- 
and-water,  and  petting  you  in  my  house,  this  very  evening, 
old  monster?  " 

"  You  shall  prake  my  heart !  " 

"  Prake  your  heart — you  mean  bore  you,"  she  went  on. 
"  Well,  bring  me  Lucien  that  I  may  invite  him  to  our  Bel- 
shazzar's  feast,  and  you  may  be  sure  he  will  not  fail  to  come. 
If  you  succeed  in  that  little  transaction,  I  will  tell  you  that  I 
love  you,  my  fat  Frederic,  in  such  plain  terms  that  you  can- 
not but  believe  me." 

"  You  are  ein  enchanteress,"  said  the  baron,  kissing  Esther's 
glove.  "I  should  be  villing  to  listen  to  abuse  for  ein  hour 
if  alvays  der  vas  a  kiss  at  de  ent  of  it." 

"But  if  I  am  not  obeyed,  I "  and  she  threatened  the. 

baron  with  her  finger  as  we  threaten  children. 

The  baron  raised  his  head  like  a  bird  caught  in  a  springe 
and  imploring  the  trapper's  pity. 

"Dear  heaven!  What  ails  Lucien?"  said  she  to  herself 
when  she  was  alone,  making  no  attempt  to  check  her  falling 
tears;  "  I  never,  never  saw  him  so  sad." 

This  is  what  had  happened  to  Lucien  that  very  evening : 
At  nine  o'clock  he  had  gone  out,  as  he  did  every  evening, 
in  his  coup<§  to   go  to  the  Hotel  de  Grarrdlieu.     Using  his 
saddle-horse  and  cab  in  the  morning  only,  like  all  young  men, 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  259 

he  had  hired  a  coupe  for  winter  evenings,  and  had  cnosen  a 
first-class  carriage  and  splendid  horses  from  one  of  the  best 
livery-men.  For  the  last  month  all  had  gone  well  with  him  ; 
he  had  dined  with  the  Grandlieus  three  times ;  the  duke  was 
delightful  to  him ;  his  shares  in  the  Omnibus  Company,  sold 
for  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  had  paid  off  a  third  more 
of  the  price  of  the  land ;  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu,  who  dressed 
beautifully  now,  reddened  inch  thick  when  he  went  into  the 
room,  and  loudly  proclaimed  her  attachment  to  him.  Some 
personages  of  high  estate  discussed  their  marriage  as  a  prob- 
able event.  The  Due  de  Chaulieu,  formerly  ambassador  to 
Spain  and  for  a  short  while  minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  had 
promised  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu  that  he  would  ask  for 
the  title  of  marquis  for  Lucien. 

So  that  evening,  after  dining  with  Madame  de  Serizy, 
Lucien  had  driven  to  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  to  pay 
his  daily  visit. 

He  arrives,  the  coachman  calls  for  the  gate  to  be  opened, 
he  drives  into  the  courtyard  and  stops  at  the  steps.  Lucien, 
on  getting  out,  remarks  four  other  carriages  in  waiting.  On 
seeing  Monsieur  de  Rubempre,  one  of  the  footmen  placed  to 
open  and  shut  the  hall-door  comes  forward  and  out  on  to  the 
steps,  in  front  of  the  door,  like  a  soldier  on  guard. 

"  His  grace  is  not  at  home,"  says  he. 

"Madame  la  Duchesse  is  receiving  company,"  observes 
Lucien  to  the  servant. 

"Madame  la  Duchesse  is  out,"  replies  the  man  solemnly. 

"Mademoiselle  Clotilde " 

"  I  do  not  think  that  Mademoiselle  Clotilde  will  see  you, 
monsieur,  in  the  absence  of  Madame  la  Duchesse." 

"But  there  are  people  here,"  replies  Lucien  in  dismay. 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir,"  says  the  man,  trying  to  seem  stupid 
and  yet  respectful. 

There  is  nothing  more  fatal  than  etiquette  to  those  who 
regard  it  as  the  most  formidable  arm  of  social  law.  Lucien 


260  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

^ 

easily  interpreted  the  meaning  of  this  scene,  so  disastrous  to 
him.  The  duke  and  duchess  would  not  admit  him.  He  felt 
the  spinal  marrow  freezing  in  the  core  of  his  vertebral  column, 
and  a  sickly  cold  sweat  bedewed  his  brow.  The  conversation 
had  taken  place  in  the  presence  of  his  own  valet,  who  held 
the  door  of  the  coupd,  doubting  whether  to  shut  it.  Lucien 
signed  to  him  that  he  was  going  away  again ;  but  as  he  stepped 
into  the  carriage  he  heard  the  noise  of  people  coming  down- 
stairs, and  the  servant  called  out  first,  "  Madame  la  Duchesse 
de  Chaulieu's  people,"  then  "Madame  la  Vicomtesse  de 
Grandlieu's  carriage  !  " 

Lucien  merely  said:  "To  the  Italian  opera;"  but  in  spite 
of  his  haste,  the  luckless  dandy  could  not  escape  the  Due  de 
Chaulieu  and  his  son,  the  Due  de  Rhetore,  to  whom  he  was 
obliged  to  bow,  for  they  did  not  speak  a  word  to  him.  A 
great  catastrophe  at  Court,  the  fall  of  a  formidable  favorite, 
has  ere  now  been  pronounced  on  the  threshold  of  a  royal 
study,  in  one  word  from  an  usher  with  a  face  like  a  plaster 
cast. 

"  How  am  I  to  let  my  adviser  know  of  this  disaster — this 
instant ?"  thought  Lucien  as  he  drove  to  the  opera- 
house.  "  What  is  going  on  ?  " 

He  racked  his  brain  with  conjectures. 

This  was  what  had  taken  place  :  That  morning,  at  eleven 
o'clock,  the  Due  de  Grandlieu,  as  he  went  into  the  little  room 
where  the  family  all  breakfasted  together,  said  to  Clotilde 
after  kissing  her:  "Until  further  orders,  my  child,  think  no 
more  of  the  Sieur  de  RubempreV' 

Then  he  had  taken  the  duchess  by  the  hand,  and  led  her 
into  a  window  recess  to  say  a  few  words  in  an  undertone, 
which  made  poor  Clotilde  turn  pale;  for  she  watched  her 
mother  as  she  listened  to  the  duke,  and  saw  her  expression  of 
extreme  surprise. 

"Jean,"  said  the  duke  to  one  of  the  servants,  "take  this 
note  to  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Chaulieu,  and  beg  him  to  answer 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  261 

by  you,  Yes  or  No.  I  am  asking  him  to  dine  here  to-day," 
he  added  to  his  wife. 

Breakfast  had  been  a  most  melancholy  meal.  The  duchess 
was  meditative,  the  duke  seemed  to  be  vexed  with  himself,  and 
Clotilde  could  with  difficulty  restrain  her  tears. 

"  My  child,  your  father  is  right ;  you  must  obey  him,"  the 
mother  had  said  to  the  daughter  with  much  emotion.  "  I  do 
not  say  as  he  does,  'Think  no  more  of  Lucien.'  No — for  I 
understand  your  suffering" — Clotilde  kissed  her  mother's 
hand — "  but  I  do  say,  my  darling,  wait,  take  no  step,  suffer 
in  silence  since  you  love  him,  and  put  your  trust  in  your 
parents'  care.  Great  ladies,  my  child,  are  great  just  because 
they  can  do  their  duty  on  every  occasion,  and  do  it  nobly." 

"  But  what  is  it  about  ?"  asked  Clotilde  as  white  as  a  lily. 

"  Matters  too  serious  to  be  discussed  with  you,  my  dearest," 
the  duchess  replied.  "For  if  they  are  untrue,  your  mind 
would  be  unnecessarily  sullied ;  and  if  they  are  true,  you  must 
never  know  them." 

At  six  o'clock  the  Due  de  Chaulieu  had  come  to  join  the 
Due  de  Grandlieu,  who  awaited  him  in  his  study. 

"  Tell  me,  Henri  " — for  the  dukes  were  on  the  most  familiar 
terms,  and  addressed  each  other  by  their  Christian  names. 
This  is  one  of  the  shades  invented  to  mark  a  degree  of  inti- 
macy, to  repel  the  audacity  of  French  familiarity,  and  humil- 
iate conceit — "  tell  me,  Henri,  I  am  in  such  a  desperate 
difficulty  that  I  can  only  ask  advice  of  an  old  friend  who 
understands  business,  and  you  have  practice  and  experience. 
My  daughter  Clotilde,  as  you  know,  is  in  love  with  that  little 
Rubempre',  whom  I  have  been  almost  compelled  to  accept  as 
her  promised  husband.  I  have  always  been  averse  to  the 
marriage ;  however,  Madame  de  Grandlieu  could  not  bear  to 
thwart  Clotilde's  passion.  When  the  young  fellow  had  repur- 
chased the  family  estate  and  paid  three-quarters  of  the  price, 
I  could  make  no  further  objections. 

"But  last  evening  I   received  an  anonymous  letter — you 


262  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

know  how  much  that  is  worth — in  which  I  am  informed  that 
the  young  fellow's  fortune  is  derived  from  some  disreputable 
source,  and  that  he  is  telling  lies  when  he  says  that  his  sister 
is  giving  him  the  necessary  funds  for  his  purchase.  For  my 
daughter's  happiness,  and  for  the  sake  of  our  family,  I  am 
adjured  to  make  inquiries,  and  the  means  of  doing  so  are 
suggested  to  me.  Here,  read  it." 

"  I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion  as  to  the  value  of  anony- 
mous letters,  my  dear  Ferdinand,"  said  the  Due  de  Chaulieu 
after  reading  the  letter.  "  Still,  though  we  may  contemn 
them,  we  must  make  use  of  them.  We  must  treat  such  letters 
as  we  would  treat  a  spy.  Keep  the  young  man  out  of  the 
house,  and  let  us  make  inquiries 

"  I  know  how  to  do  it.  Your  lawyer  is  Derville,  a  man  in 
whom  we  have  perfect  confidence ;  he  knows  the  secrets  of 
many  families,  and  can  certainly  be  trusted  with  this.  He  is 
an  honest  man,  a  man  of  weight,  and  a  man  of  honor ;  he  is 
cunning  and  wily ;  but  his  wiliness  is  only  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness, and  you. need  only  employ  him  to  obtain  evidence  you 
can  depend  upon. 

"  We  have  in  the  Foreign  Office  an  agent  of  the  superior 
police  who  is  unique  in  his  power  of  discovering  State  secrets ; 
we  often  send  him  on  such  missions.  Inform  Derville  that  he 
will  have  a  lieutenant  in  the  case.  Our  spy  is  a  gentleman 
who  will  appear  wearing  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor, 
and  looking  like  a  diplomat.  This  rascal  will  do  the  hunting ; 
Derville  will  only  look  on.  Your  lawyer  will  then  tell  you  if 
the  mountain  brings  forth  a  mouse,  or  if  you  must  throw  over 
this  little  Rubempre.  Within  a  week  you  will  know  what  you 
are  doing." 

"  The  young  man  is  not  yet  so  far  a  marquis  as  to  take 
offense  at  my  being  'Not  at  home'  for  a  week,"  said  the 
Due  de  Grandlieu. 

"Above  all,  if  you  end  by  giving  him  your  daughter," 
replied  the  minister.  "  If  the  anonymous  letter  tells  the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  263 

truth,  what  of  that  ?  You  can  send  Clotilde  to  travel  with 
my  daughter-in-law  Madeleine,  who  wants  to  go  to  Italy." 

"  You  relieve  me  immensely.  I  don't  know  how  I  ought 
to  thank  you." 

"Wait  the  result." 

"By  the  way,"  exclaimed  the  Due  de  Grandlieu,  "what  is 
your  man's  name  ?  I  must  mention  it  to  Derville.  Send  him 
to  me  to-morrow  by  five  o'clock ;  I  will  have  Derville  here 
and  put  them  in  communication." 

"His  real  name,"  said  M.  de  Chaulieu,  "is,  I  think, 
Corentin — a  name  you  must  never  have  heard,  for  my  gentle- 
man will  come  ticketed  with  his  official  name.  He  calls 
himself  Monsieur  de  Saint-Something — Saint-Yves — Saint- 
Valere?  Something  of  the  kind.  You  may  trust  him;  Louis 
XVIII.  had  perfect  confidence  in  him." 

After  this  confabulation  the  steward  had  orders  to  shut  the 
door  on  Monsieur  de  Rubempre — which  was  done. 

Lucien  paced  the  waiting-room  of  the  opera-house  like  a 
man  who  was  drunk.  He  fancied  himself  the  talk  of  all  Paris. 
He  had  in  the  Due  de  Rhetor6  one  of  those  unrelenting  ene- 
mies on  whom  a  man  must  smile,  as  he  can  never  be  revenged, 
since  their  attacks  are  in  conformity  with  the  rules  of  society. 
The  Due  de  Rh6tore"  knew  the  scene  th|.t  had  just  taken  place 
on  the  outside  steps  of  the  Grandlieus'  house.  Lucien,  feel- 
ing the  necessity  of  at  once  reporting  the  catastrophe  to  his 
high  privy  councilor,  was  nevertheless  afraid  of  compromising 
himself  by  going  to  Esther's  house,  where  he  might  find  com- 
pany. He  actually  forgot  that  Esther  was  here,  so  confused 
were  his  thoughts,  and  in  the  midst  of  so  much  perplexity  he 
was  obliged  to  make  small  talk  with  Rastignac,  who,  knowing 
nothing  of  the  news,  congratulated  him  on  his  approaching 
marriage. 

At  this  moment  Nucingen  appeared  smiling,  and  said  to 
Lucien — 

"  Vill  you  do  me  de  pleasure  to  come  to  see  Montame  de 


264  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Champy,  vat  vill  infite  you  herself  to  von  house-varraing 
party " 

"With  pleasure,  baron,"  replied  Lucien,  to  whom  the 
baron  appeared  as  a  rescuing  angel. 

"Leave  us,"  said  Esther  to  Monsieur  de  Nucingen,  when 
she  saw  him  come  in  with  Lucien.  "  Go  and  see  Madame  du 
Val-Noble,  whom  I  discover  in  a  box  on  the  third  tier  with 
her  nabob.  A  great  many  nabobs  grow  in  the  Indies,"  she 
added  with  a  knowing  glance  at  Lucien. 

"And  that  one,"  said  Lucien,  smiling,  "is  uncommonly 
like  yours." 

"And  then,"  said  Esther,  answering  Lucien  with  another 
look  of  intelligence,  while  still  speaking  to  the  baron,  "bring 
her  here  with  her  nabob ;  he  is  very  anxious  to  make  your 
acquaintance.  They  say  he  is  very  rich.  The  poor  woman 
has  already  poured  out  I  know  not  how  many  elegies;  she 
complains  that  her  nabob  is  no  good  ;  and  if  you  relieve  him 
of  his  ballast,  perhaps  he  will  sail  closer  to  the  wind." 

"  You  tink  ve  are  all  tieves !  "  said  the  baron  as  he  went 
away. 

"  What  ails  you,  my  Lucien  ?  "  asked  Esther  in  her  friend's 
ear,  just  touching  it  with  her  lips  as  soon  as  the  box  door  was 
shut. 

"  I  am  lost !  I  have  just  been  turned  from  the  door  of  the 
Hotel  de  Grandlieu  under  pretense  that  no  one  was  admitted. 
The  duke  and  duchess  were  at  home,  and  five  pairs  of  horses 
were  champing  in  the  courtyard." 

"What!  will  the  marriage  not  take  place?"  exclaimed 
Esther,  much  agitated,  for  she  saw  a  glimpse  of  paradise. 

"I  do  not  yet  know  what  is  being  plotted  against  me " 

"  My  Lucien,"  said  she  in  a  deliciously  coaxing  voice, 
"why  be  worried  about  it?  You  can  make  a  better  match 
by-and-by — I  will  get  you  the  price  of  two  estates " 

"  Invite  us  to  supper  to-night  that  I  may  be  able  to  speak 
in  secret  to  Carlos,  and,  above  all,  invite  the  sham  English- 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  265 

man  and  Val-Noble.  That  nabob  is  my  ruin;  he  is  our 
enemy;  we  will  get  hold  of  him,  and  we " 

But  Lucien  broke  off  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  Well,  what  is  it? "  asked  the  poor  girl. 

"  Oh  !  Madame  de  Serizy  sees  me  !  "  cried  Lucien,  "  and  to 
crown  our  woes,  the  Due  de  Rhetore,  who  witnessed  my  re- 
buff, is  with  her." 

In  fact,  at  that  very  minute,  the  Due  de  Rhetore,  was 
amusing  himself  with  Madame  de  Serizy's  discomfiture. 

"  Why  do  you  allow  Lucien  to  be  seen  in  Mademoiselle 
Esther's  box?  "  said  the  young  duke,  pointing  to  the  box  and 
to  Lucien  ;  "you,  who  take  an  interest  in  him,  should  really 
tell  him  such  things  are  not  allowed.  He  may  sup  at  her 
house,  he  may  even —  But,  in  fact,  I  am  no  longer  surprised 
at  the  Grandlieus'  coolness  toward  the  young  man.  I  have 
just  seen  their  door  shut  in  his  face — on  the  front  steps " 

"Women  of  that  sort  are  very  dangerous,"  said  Madame 
de  Serizy,  turning  her  opera-glass  on  Esther's  box. 

"Yes,"  said  the  duke,  "as  much  by  what  they  can  do  as 
by  what  they  wish " 

"They  will  ruin  him!"  cried  Madame  de  Serizy,  "for  I 
am  told  they  cost  as  much  whether  they  are  paid  or  not." 

"Not  to  him!"  said  the  young  duke,  affecting  surprise. 
"They  are  far  from  costing  him  anything;  they  give  him 
money  at  need,  and  all  run  after  him." 

The  countess'  lips  showed  a  little  nervous  twitching  which 
could  not  be  included  in  any  category  of  smiles. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Esther,  "come  to  supper  at  midnight. 
Bring  Blondet  and  Rastignac ;  let  us  have  two  amusing  per- 
sons at  any  rate,  and  we  won't  be  more  than  nine." 

"  You  must  find  some  excuse  for  sending  the  baron  to  fetch 
Eugenie  under  pretense  of  warning  Asia,  and  tell  her  what  has 
befallen  me,  so  that  Carlos  may  know  before  he  has  the  nabob 
under  his  claws." 

"That  shall  be  done,"  said  Esther. 


> 

266  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

And  thus  Peyrade  was  probably  about  to  find  himself  un- 
wittingly under  the  same  roof  with  his  adversary.  The  tiger 
was  coming  into  the  lion's  den,  and  a  lion  surrounded  by  his 
guards. 

When  Lucien  went  back  to  Madame  de  Serizy's  box,  in- 
stead of  turning  to  him,  smiling  and  arranging  her  skirts  for 
him  to  sit  by  her,  she  affected  to  pay  him  not  the  slightest 
attention,  but  looked  about  the  house  through  her  glass. 
Lucien  could  see,  however,  by  the  shaking  of  her  hand  that 
the  countess  was  suffering  from  one  of  those  terrible  emotions 
by  which  illicit  joys  are  paid  for.  He  went  to  the  front  of  the 
box  all  the  same,  and  sat  down  by  her  at  the  opposite  corner, 
leaving  a  little  vacant  space  between  himself  and  the  countess. 
He  leaned  on  the  ledge  of  the  box  with  his  elbow,  resting 
his  chin  on  his  gloved  hand ;  then  he  half  turned  away,  wait- 
ing for  a  word.  By  the  middle  of  the  act  the  countess  had 
still  neither  spoken  to  him  nor  looked  at  him. 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  she  at  last,  "why  you  are  here; 
your  proper  place  is  in  Mademoiselle  Esther's  box " 

"I  will  go  there,"  said  Lucien,  leaving  the  box  without 
looking  at  the  countess. 

"My  dear,"  said  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  going  into 
Esther's  box  with  Peyrade,  whom  the  Baron  de  Nucingen 
did  not  recognize,  "  I  am  delighted  to  introduce  Mr.  Samuel 
Johnson.  He  is  a  great  admirer  of  Monsieur  de  Nucingen's 
talents." 

"Indeed,  monsieur,"  said  Esther,  smiling  at  Peyrade. 

"  Oh  yes,  bocou"*  said  Peyrade. 

"Why,  baron,  here  is  a  way  of  speaking  French  which  is 
as  much  like  yours  as  the  low  Breton  dialect  is  like  that  of 
Burgundy.  It  will  be  most  amusing  to  hear  you  discuss 
money  matters.  Do  you  know,  Monsieur  Nabob,  what  I  shall 
require  of  you  if  you  are  to  make  acquaintance  with  my 
baron?"  said  Esther  with  a  smile. 

*  Beaucoup — very  much. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  267 

"  Oh  !  Thank  you  so  much,  you  will  introduce  me  to  Sir 
Baronet?"  said  Peyrade  with  an  extravagant  English  accent. 

'•  Yes,"  said  she,  "  you  must  give  me  the  pleasure  of  your 
company  at  supper.  There  is  no  pitch  stronger  than  cham- 
pagne for  sticking  men  together.  It  seals  every  kind  of  busi- 
ness, above  all  such  as  you  put  your  foot  in.  Come  this 
evening ;  you  will  find  some  jolly  fellows.  As  for  you,  my 
little  Frederic,"  she  added  in  the  baron's  ear,  "you  have 
your  carriage  here — just  drive  to  the  Rue  Saint-Georges  and 
bring  Europe  to  me  here;  I  have  two  words  to  say  to  her 
about  the  supper.  I  have  caught  Lucien  ;  he  will  bring  two 
men  who  will  be  fun.  We  will  draw  the  Englishman,"  she 
whispered  to  Madame  du  Val-Noble. 

Peyrade  and  the  baron  left  the  women  together. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  if  you  ever  succeed  in  drawing  that  great 
brute,  you  will  be  clever  indeed,"  said  Suzanne. 

"If  it  proves  impossible,  you  must  lend  him  to  me  for  a 
week,"  replied  Esther,  laughing. 

"You  would  but  keep  him  half  a  day,"  replied  Madame  du 
Val-Noble.  "The  bread  I  eat  is  too  hard;  it  breaks  my 
teeth.  Never  again,  to  my  dying  day,  will  I  try  to  make  an 
Englishman  happy.  They  are  all  cold  and  selfish — pigs  on 
their  hind  legs." 

"  What,  no  consideration  ?  "  said  Esther  with  a  smile. 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  dear,  the  monster  has  never  shown 
the  least  familiarity." 

"Under  no  circumstances  whatever?"  asked  Esther. 

"The  wretch  always  addresses  me  as  madame,  and  pre- 
serves the  most  perfect  coolness  imaginable  at  moments  when 
every  man  is  more  or  less  amenable.  To  him  love-making ! 
— on  my  word,  it  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  shaving  him- 
self. He  wipes  the  razor,  puts  it  back  in  its  case,  and  looks 
in  the  glass  as  if  he  were  saying,  '  I  have  not  cut  myself! ' 

"  Then  he  treats  me  with  such  respect  as  is  enough  to  send 
a  woman  mad.  That  odious  Milord  Potboiler  amuses  himself 


268  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

by  making  poor  Theodore  hide  in  my  dressing-room  and  stand 
there  half  the  day.  In  short,  he  tries  to  annoy  me  in  every 
way.  And  so  stingy  !  As  miserly  as  Gobseck  and  Gigonnet 
rolled  into  one.  He  takes  me  out  to  dinner,  but  he  does  not 
pay  the  coach  that  brings  me  home  if  I  happen  not  to  have 
ordered  my  carriage  to  fetch  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Esther,  "  but  what  does  he  pay  you  for  your 
services  ? ' ' 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  positively  nothing.  Five  hundred  francs  a 
month  and  not  a  penny  more,  and  the  hire  of  a  carriage. 
But  what  is  it  ?  A  machine  such  as  they  hire  out  for  a  third- 
rate  wedding  to  carry  a  grocer  to  the  mairie,  to  church,  and 
to  the  Cadran  Bleu.  Oh,  he  nettles  me  with  his  respect. 

"  If  I  try  hysterics  and  feel  ill,  he  is  never  vexed ;  he  only 
says :  '  I  wish  my  lady  to  have  her  own  way,  for  there  is  noth- 
ing more  detestable — no  gentleman — than  to  say  to  a  nice 
woman,  'You  are  a  cotton-bale,  a  bundle  of  merchandise. 
Ha,  ha  !  Are  you  a  member  of  the  Temperance  Society  and 
anti-slavery? '  And  my  horror  sits  pale,  and  cold,  and  hard, 
while  he  gives  me  to  understand  that  he  has  as  much  respect 
for  me  as  he  might  have  for  a  negro,  and  that  it  has  nothing 
to  do  with  his  feelings,  but  his  opinions  as  an  abolitionist." 

"A  man  cannot  be  a  worse  wretch,"  said  Esther.  "  But  I 
will  smash  up  that  outlandish  Chinee." 

"  Smash  him  up  ?  "  replied  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  "  Not 
if  he  does  not  love  me.  You,  yourself,  would  you  like  to  ask 
him  for  two  sous?  He  would  listen  to  you  solemnly,  and  tell 
you,  with  British  precision  that  would  make  a  slap  in  the  face 
seem  genial,  that  he  pays  dear  enough  for  the  trifle  that  love 
can  be  to  his  poor  life;"  and,  as  before,  Madame  du  Val- 
Noble  mimicked  Peyrade's  bad  French. 

"  To  think  that  in  our  line  of  life  we  are  thrown  in  the  way 
of  such  men  !  "  exclaimed  Esther. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you  have  been  uncommonly  lucky.  Take 
good  care  of  your  Nucingen." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  269 

"But  your  nabob  must  have  got  some  idea  in  his  head." 

"That  is  what  Adele  says." 

"  Look  here,  my  dear;  that  man,  you  may  depend,  has  laid 
a  bet  that  he  will  make  a  woman  hate  him  and  pack  him  off  in 
a  certain  time." 

"  Or  else  he  wants  to  do  business  with  Nucingen,  and  took 
me  up  knowing  that  you  and  I  were  friends;  that  is  what 
Adele  thinks,"  answered  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  "That  is 
why  I  introduced  him  to  you  this  evening.  Oh,  if  only  I 
could  be  sure  what  he  is  at,  what  tricks  I  could  play  him  with 
you  and  Nucingen  !  " 

"And  you  don't  get  angry?"  asked  Esther;  "you  don't 
speak  your  mind  now  and  then  ?  " 

"  Try  it — you  are  sharp  and  smooth.  Well,  in  spite  of 
your  sweetness,  he  would  kill  you  with  his  icy  smiles.  '  I  am 
anti-slavery,'  he  would  say,  'and  you  are  free.'  If  you  said 
the  funniest  things,  he  would  only  look  at  you  and  say:  'Very 
good  ! '  and  you  would  see  that  he  regards  you  merely  as  part 
of  the  show." 

"And  if  you  turned  furious?" 

"  The  same  thing ;  it  would  still  be  a  show.  You  might 
cut  him  open  under  the  left  breast  without  hurting  him  in  the 
least ;  his  internals  are  of  tinned-iron,  I  am  sure.  I  told  him 
so.  He  replied,  '  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  that  physical  con- 
stitution.' 

"  And  always  polite.     My  dear,  he  wears  gloves  on  his  soul. 

"  I  shall  endure  this  martyrdom  a  few  days  longer  to  satisfy 
my  curiosity.  But  for  that,  I  should  have  made  Philippe  slap 
my  lord's  cheek — and  he  has  not  his  match  as  a  swordsman. 
There  is  nothing  else  left  for  it " 

"  I  was  just  going  to  say  so,"  cried  Esther.  "  But  you 
must  ascertain  first  that  Philippe  is  a  boxer;  for  these  old 
English  fellows,  my  dear,  have  a  depth  of  malignity " 

"This  one  has  no  match  on  earth.  No,  if  you  could  but 
see  him  asking  my  commands,  to  know  at  what  hour  he  may 


270  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

come — to  take  me  by  surprise,  of  course — and  pouring  out 
respectful  speeches  like  a  so-called  gentleman,  you  would  say, 
'  Why,  he  adores  her ! '  and  there  is  not  a  woman  in  the 
world  who  would  not  say  the  same." 

"And  they  envy  us,  my  dear !  "  exclaimed  Esther. 

"  Ah,  well !  "  sighed  Madame  du  Val-Noble  ;  "  in  the  course 
of  our  lives  we  learn  more  or  less  how  little  men  value  us. 
But,  my  dear,  I  have  never  been  so  cruelly,  so  deeply,  so  ut- 
terly scorned  by  brutality  as  I  am  by  this  great  skinful  of  port 
wine. 

"When  he  is  tipsy  he  goes  away — 'not  to  be  unpleasant,' 
as  he  tells  Adele,  and  not  to  be  '  under  two  powers  at  once,' 
wine  and  woman.  He  takes  advantage  of  my  carriage ;  he 
uses  it  more  than  I  do.  Oh  !  if  only  we  could  see  him  under 
the  table  to-night !  But  he  can  drink  ten  bottles  and  only 
be  fuddled  ;  when  his  eyes  are  full,  he  still  sees  clearly." 

"  Like  people  whose  windows  are  dirty  outside,"  said  Esther, 
"  but  who  can  see  from  inside  what  is  going  on  in  the  street. 
I  know  that  property  in  man.  Du  Tillet  has  it  in  the  highest 
degree." 

"  Try  to  get  du  Tillet,  and  if  he  and  Nucingen  between 
them  could  only  catch  him  in  some  of  their  plots,  I  should 
at  least  be  revenged.  They  would  bring  him  to  beggary ! 

"  Oh  !  my  dear,  to  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  hypo- 
critical Protestant  after  that  poor  Falleix,  who  was  so  amusing, 
so  good-natured,  so  full  of  chaff !  How  we  used  to  laugh  ! 
They  say  all  stock-brokers  are  stupid.  Well,  he,  for  one,  never 
lacked  wit  but  once " 

"  When  he  left  you  without  a  sou  ?  That  is  what  made  you 
acquainted  with  the  unpleasant  side  of  pleasure." 

Europe,  brought  in  by  Monsieur  de  Nucingen,  put  her  viper- 
ine  head  in  at  the  door,  and,  after  listening  to  a  few  words 
whispered  in  her  ear  by  her  mistress,  she  vanished. 

At  half-past  eleven  that  evening,  five  carriages  were  stationed 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  271 

in  the  Rue  Saint-Georges  before  the  famous  courtesan's  door. 
There  was  Lucien's,  who  had  brought  Rastignac,  Bixiou,  and 
Blondet ;  du  Tillet's,  the  Baron  de  Nucingen's,  the  nabob's, 
and  Florine's — she  was  invited  by  du  Tillet.  The  closed  and 
doubly-shuttered  windows  were  screened  by  the  splendid  Chi- 
nese silk  curtains.  Supper  was  to  be  served  at  one ;  wax- 
lights  were  blazing,  the  dining-room  and  little  drawing-room 
displayed  all  their  magnificence.  The  party  looked  forward 
to  such  an  orgy  as  only  three  such  women  and  such  men  as 
these  could  survive.  They  began  by  playing  cards,  as  they 
had  to  wait  about  two  hours. 

"  Do  you  play,  milord  ?  "  said  du  Tillet  to  Peyrade. 

"  I  have  played  with  O'Connell,  Pitt,  Fox,  Canning,  Lord 
Brougham,  Lord " 

"  Say  at  once  no  end  of  lords,"  said  Bixiou. 

"  Lord  Fitzwilliam,  Lord  Ellenborough,  Lord  Hertford, 
Lord " 

Bixiou  was  looking  at  Peyrade's  shoes,  and  stooped  down. 

"  What  are  you  looking  for  ?  "  asked  Blondet. 

"  For  the  spring  one  must  touch  to  stop  this  machine," 
said  Florine. 

"  Do  you  play  for  twenty  francs  a  point  ?  " 

"  I  will  play  for  as  much  as  you  like  to  lose." 

"He  does  it  well!  "  said  Esther  to  Lucien.  "  They  all 
take  him  for  an  Englishman." 

Du  Tillet,  Nucingen,  Peyrade,  and  Rastignac  sat  down  to 
a  whist-table ;  Florine,  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  Esther,  Blondet, 
and  Bixiou  sat  round  the  fire  chatting.  Lucien  spent  the  time 
in  looking  through  a  book  of  fine  engravings. 

"Supper  is  ready,"  Paccard  presently  announced,  in  mag- 
nificent livery. 

Peyrade  was  placed  at  Florine's  left  hand,  and  on  the  other 
side  of  him  Bixiou,  whom  Esther  had  enjoined  to  make  the 
Englishman  drink  freely,  and  challenge  him  to  beat  him. 
Bixiou  had  the  power  of  drinking  an  indefinite  quantity. 


272  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Never  in  his  life  had  Peyrade  seen  such  splendor,  or  tasted 
of  such  cookery,  or  seen  such  fine  women. 

"  I  am  getting  my  money's  worth  this  evening  for  the  thou- 
sand crowns  la  Val-Noble  has  cost  me  till  now,"  thought  he; 
"  and,  beside,  I  have  just  won  a  thousand  francs." 

"This  is  an  example  for  .men  to  follow!  "  said  Suzanne, 
who  was  sitting  by  Lucien,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  at  the 
splendors  of  the  dining-room. 

Esther  had  placed  Lucien  next  herself,  and  was  holding  his 
foot  between  her  own  under  the  table. 

"  Do  you  hear?"  said  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  addressing 
Peyrade,  who  affected  blindness.  "  This  is  how  you  ought  to 
furnish  a  house  !  When  a  man  brings  millions  home  from 
India,  and  wants  to  do  business  with  the  Nucingens,  he  should 
place  himself  on  the  same  level." 

"  I  belong  to  a  Temperance  Society !  " 

"  Then  you  will  drink  like  a  fish  !  "  said  Bixiou,  "  for  the 
Indies  are  uncommon  hot,  uncle  !  " 

It  was  Bixiou's  jest  during  supper  to  treat  Peyrade  as  an 
uncle  of  his,  returned  from  India. 

"  Montame  du  Fal-Noble  tolt  me  you  shall  have  some  iteas," 
said  Nucingen,  scrutinizing  Peyrade. 

"Ah,  this  is  what  I  wanted  to  hear,"  said  du  Tillet  to  Ras- 
tignac  ;  "  the  two  talking  gibberish  together." 

"You  will  see,  they  will  understand  each  other  at  last," 
said  Bixiou,  rightly  guessing  what  du  Tillet  had  just  said  to 
Rastignac. 

"  Sir  Baronet,  I  have  imagined  a  speculation — oh  !  a  very 
comfortable  job — bocou  prqfatible  and  rich  in  profits " 

"Now  you  will  see,"  said  Blondet  to  du  Tillet,  "he  will 
not  talk  one  minute  without  dragging  in  the  Parliament  and 
the  English  Government." 

"It  is  in  China,  in  the  opium  trade -" 

"  Ja,  I  know,"  said  Nucingen  at  once,  as  a  man  who  is  well 
acquainted  with  commercial  geography.  "  But  de  English 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  273 

Gover'ment  hafe  taken  up  de  opium  trate  as  a  means  dat  shall 
open  up  China,  and  she  shall  not  allow  dat  ve " 

"Nucingen  has  cut  him  out  with  the  Government,"  re- 
marked du  Tillet  to  Blondet. 

"Ah  !  you  have  been  in  the  opium  trade  !  "  cried  Madame 
du  Val-Noble.  "  Now  I  understand  why  you  are  so  narcotic ; 
some  has  stuck  in  your  soul." 

"  Dere  !  you  see  !  "  cried  the  baron  to  the  self-styled  opium 
merchant,  and  pointing  to  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  "  You 
are  like  me.  Never  shall  a  millionaire  be  able  to  make  a 
voman  lofe  him." 

"I  have  loved  much  and  often,  milady,"  replied  the  dis- 
guised Peyrade. 

"As  a  result  of  temperance,"  said  Bixiou,  who  had  just  seen 
Peyrade  finish  his  third  bottle  of  claret,  and  now  had  a  bottle 
of  port  wine  uncorked. 

"Oh!  "  cried  Peyrade,  "it  is  very  fine,  the  Portugal  of 
England." 

Blondet,  du  Tillet,  and  Bixiou  smiled  at  each  other.  Pey- 
rade had  the  power  of  burlesquing  everything,  even  his  wit. 
There  are  very  few  Englishmen  who  will  not  maintain  that 
gold  and  silver  are  better  in  England  than  elsewhere.  The 
fowls  and  eggs  exported  from  Normandy  to  the  London 
market  enable  the  English  to  maintain  that  the  poultry  and 
eggs  in  London  are  superior  (very  fine)  to  those  of  Paris,  which 
come  from  the  same  district. 

Esther  and  Lucien  were  dumfounded  by  this  perfection  of 
costume,  language,  and  audacity. 

The  all  ate  and  drank  so  well  and  so  heartily,  while  talking 
and  laughing,  that  it  went  on  till  four  in  the  morning.  Bixiou 
flattered  himself  that  he  had  achieved  one  of  the  victories  so 
pleasantly  related  by  Brillat-Savarin.  But  at  the  moment 
when  he  was  saying  to  himself,  as  he  offered  his  "  uncle  " 
some  more  wine,  "I  have  vanquished  England!"  Peyrade 
replied  in  good  French  to  this  malicious  scoffer,  "Toujours, 
18 


274  THE  HA  K  LOT'S  PROGRESS. 

mon  garcon"  (Go  it,  my  boy),  which  no  one  heard  but 
Bixiou. 

"  Halloo,  good  men  all,  he  is  as  English  as  I  am !  My 
uncle  is  a  Gascon.  I  could  have  no  other  !  " 

Bixiou  and  Peyrade  were  alone,  so  no  one  heard  this  an- 
nouncement. Peyrade  rolled  off  his  chair  on  to  the  floor. 
Paccard  forthwith  picked  him  up  and  carried  him  to  an  attic, 
where  he  fell  sound  asleep. 

At  six  o'clock  next  evening,  the  Nabob  was  roused  by  the 
application  of  a  wet  cloth,  with  which  his  face  was  being 
washed,  and  awoke  to  find  himself  on  a  camp-bed,  face  to 
face  with  Asia,  wearing  a  mask  and  a  black  domino. 

"Well,  Papa  Peyrade,  you  and  I  have  to  settle  accounts," 
said  she. 

"  Where  am  I?  "  asked  he,  looking  about  him. 

"Listen  to  me,"  said  Asia,  "and  that  will  sober  you. 
Though  you  do  not  love  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  you  love 
your  daughter,  I  suppose  ?  ' ' 

"  My  daughter  ?  "  Peyrade  echoed  with  a  roar. 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle  Lydie.' 

"What  then?" 

"  What  then?  She  is  no  longer  in  the  Rue  des  Moineaux ; 
she  has  been  carried  off." 

Peyrade  breathed  a  sigh  like  that  of  a  soldier  dying  of  a 
mortal  wound  on  a  battlefield. 

"While  you  were  pretending  to  bean  Englishman,  some 
one  else  was  pretending  to  be  Peyrade.  Your  little  Lydie 
thought  she  was  with  her  father,  and  she  is  now  in  a  safe 
place.  Oh!  you -will  never  find  her!  unless  you  undo  the 
mischief  you  have  done." 

"What  mischief?" 

"Yesterday  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre  had  the  door 
shut  in  his  face  at  the  Due  de  Grandlieu's.  This  is  due  to 
your  intrigues,  and  to  the  man  you  let  loose  on  us.  Do  not 
speak,  listen  !  "  Asia  went  on,  seeing  Peyrade  open  his  mouth. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  275 

"You  will  have  you  daughter  again,  pure  and  spotless,"  she 
added,  emphasizing  her  statement  by  the  accent  on  every 
word,  "only  on  the  day  after  that  on  which  Monsieur  Lucien 
de  Rubempre  walks  out  of  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin  as  the 
husband  of  Mademoiselle  Clotilde.  If,  within  ten  days, 
Lucien  de  Rubempre  is  not  admitted,  as  he  has  been,  to  the 
Grandlieus'  house,  you,  to  begin  with,  will  die  a  violent 
death,  and  nothing  can  save  you  from  the  fate  that  threatens 
you.  Then,  when  you  feel  yourself  dying,  you  will  have  time 
before  breathing  your  last  to  reflect :  '  My  daughter  is  a  prosti- 
tute for  the  rest  of  her  life  ! ' 

"  Though  you  have  been  such  a  fool  as  give  us  this  hold  for 
our  clutches,  you  still  have  sense  enough  to  meditate  on  this 
ultimatum  from  our  government.  Do  not  bark,  say  nothing 
to  any  one;  go  to  Contenson's,  and  change  your  dress,  and 
then  go  home.  Katt  will  tell  you  that  at  a  word  from  you 
your  little  Lydie  went  downstairs,  and  has  not  been  seen  since. 
If  you  make  any  fuss,  if  you  take  any  steps,  your  daughter 
will  begin  where  I  tell  you  she  will  end — she  is  promised  to 
de  Marsay. 

"  With  old  Canquoelle  I  need  not  mince  matters,  I  should 

think,  or  wear  gloves,  eh? Go  on  downstairs,  and  take 

care  not  to  meddle  in  our  concerns  any  more." 

Asia  left  Peyrade  in  a  pitiable  state ;  every  word  had  been 
a  blow  with  a  club.  The  spy  had  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  tears 
hanging  from  his  cheeks  at  the  end  of  a  wet  furrow. 

"They  are  waiting  dinner  for  Mr.  Johnson,"  said  Europe, 
putting  her  head  in  a  moment  after. 

Peyrade  made  no  reply;  he  went  down,  walked  till  he 
reached  a  coach-stand,  and  hurried  off  to  undress  at  Contenson's, 
not  saying  a  word  to  him ;  he  resumed  the  costume  of  Pere 
Canquoelle,  and  got  home  by  eight  o'clock.  He  mounted 
the  stairs  with  a  beating  heart.  When  the  Flemish  woman 
heard  her  master,  she  asked  him — 

"  Well,  and  where  is  mademoiselle  ?  "  with  such  simplicity, 


276  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

that  the  old  spy  was  obliged  to  lean  against  the  wall.  The 
blow  was  more  than  he  could  bear.  He  went  into  his  daugh- 
ter's rooms,  and  endec^  by  fainting  with  grief  when  he  found 
them  empty,  and  heard  Katt's  story,  which  was  that  of  an 
abduction  as  skillfully  planned  as  if  he  had  arranged  it 
himself. 

"Well,  well,"  thought  he,  "I  must  knock  under.  I  will 
be  revenged  later ;  now  I  must  go  to  Corentin.  This  is  the 
first  time  we  have  met  our  foes.  Corentin  will  leave  that 
handsome  boy  free  to  marry  an  empress  if  he  wishes !  Yes, 
I  understand  that  my  little  girl  should  have  fallen  in  love  with 
him  at  first  sight.  Oh  !  that  Spanish  priest  is  a  knowing  one. 
Courage,  friend  Peyrade  !  disgorge  your  prey  !  " 

The  poor  father  never  dreamed  of  the  fearful  blow  that 
awaited  him. 

On  reaching  Corentin's  house,  Bruno,  the  confidential 
servant,  who  knew  Peyrade,  said — 

"  Monsieur  is  gone  away." 

"For  a  long  time?" 

"For  ten  days." 

"Where?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Good  God,  I  am  losing  my  wits  !  I  ask  him  where — as 
if  we  ever  told  them "  thought  he. 

A  few  hours  before  the  moment  when  Peyrade  was  to  be 
roused  in  his  garret  in  the  Rue  Saint-Georges,  Corentin,  com- 
ing in  from  his  country  place  at  Passy,  had  made  his  way  to 
the  Due  de  Grandlieu's,  in  the  costume  of  a  retainer  of  a 
superior  class.  He  wore  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  at 
his  button-hole.  He  had  made  up  a  withered  old  face  with 
powdered  hair,  deep  wrinkles,  and  a  colorless  skin.  His  eyes 
were  hidden  by  tortoise-shell  spectacles.  He  looked  like  a 
retired  office-clerk.  On  giving  his  name  as  Monsieur  de  Saint- 
Denis,  he  was  led  to  the  duke's  private  room,  where  he  found 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  277 

Derville  reading  a  letter,  which  he  himself  had  dictated  to 
one  of  his  agents,  the  "  number  "  whose  business  it  was  to  write 
documents.  The  duke  took  Corentin  aside  to  tell  him  all  he 
already  knew.  Monsieur  de  Saint-Denis  listened  coldly  and 
respectfully,  amusing  himself  by  studying  this  grand  gentle- 
man, by  penetrating  to  the  tufa  beneath  the  velvet  cover,  by 
scrutinizing  this  being,  now  and  always  absorbed  in  whist  and 
in  regard  for  the  House  of  Grandlieu. 

Such  fine  gentlemen  are  so  guileless  with  their  inferiors  that 
Corentin  had  only  to  lay  a  few  questions  humbly  before  Mon- 
sieur de  Grandlieu  to  bring  out  his  impertinence. 

"If  you  will  take  my  advice,  monsieur,"  said  Corentin  to 
Derville,  after  being  duly  introduced  to  the  lawyer,  "  we  shall 
set  out  this  very  afternoon  for  Angouleme  by  the  Bordeaux 
coach,  which  goes  quite  as  fast  as  the  mail ;  and  we  shall  not 
need  to  stay  there  six  hours  to  obtain  the  information  Mon- 
sieur le  Due  requires.  It  will  be  enough — if  I  have  under- 
stood your  grace — to  ascertain  whether  Monsieur  de  Ru- 
bempre's  sister  and  brother-in-law  are  in  a  position  to  give 
him  twelve  hundred  thousand  francs?"  and  he  turned  to 
the  duke. 

"  You  have  understood  me  perfectly,"  said  the  duke. 

"We  can  be  back  again  in  four  days,"  Corentin  went  on, 
addressing  Derville,  "  and  neither  of  us  will  have  neglected 
his  business  long  enough  for  it  to  suffer." 

"  That  was  the  only  difficulty  I  was  about  to  mention  to  his 
grace,"  said  Derville.  "  It  is  now  four  o'clock.  I  am  going 
home  to  say  a  word  to  my  head-clerk,  and  pack  my  traveling- 
bag,  and  after  dinner,  at  eight  o'clock,  I  will  be But  shall 

we  get  places?"  he  said  to  Monsieur  de  Saint-Denis,  inter- 
rupting himself. 

"I  will  answer  for  that,"  said  Corentin.  "Be  in  the  yard 
of  the  chief  office  of  the  Messageries  at  eight  o'clock.  If 
there  are  no  places,  they  shall  make  some,  for  that  is  the  way 
to  serve  Monseigneur  le  Due  de  Grandlieu." 


278  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  duke  most  graciously,  "I  postpone 
my  thanks " 

Corentin  and  the  lawyer,  taking  this  as  a  dismissal,  bowed 
and  withdrew. 

At  the  hour  when  Peyrade  was  questioning  Corentin's 
servant,  Monsieur  de  Saint-Denis  and  Derville,  seated  in  the 
Bordeaux  coach,  were  studying  each  other  in  silence  as  they 
drove  out  of  Paris. 

Next  morning,  between  Orleans  and  Tours,  Derville,  being 
bored,  began  to  converse,  and  Corentin  condescended  to 
amuse  him,  but  keeping  his  distance ;  he  left  him  to  believe 
that  he  was  in  the  diplomatic  service,  and  was  hoping  to 
become  consul-general  by  the  good  offices  of  the  Due  de 
Grandlieu.  Two  days  after  leaving  Paris,  Corentin  and  Der- 
ville got  out  at  Mansle,  to  the  great  surprise  of  the  lawyer, 
who  thought  he  was  going  to  AngoulSme. 

"In  this  little  town,"  said  Corentin,  "  we  can  get  the  most 
positive  information  as  regards  Madame  Sechard." 

"Do  you  know  her  then?"  asked  Derville,  astonished  to 
find  Corentin  so  well  informed. 

"I  made  the  conductor  talk,  finding  he  was  a  native  of 
AngoulSme.  He  tells  me  that  Madame  Sechard  lives  at 
Marsac,  and  Marsac  is  but  a  league  away  from  Mansle.  I 
thought  we  should  be  at  greater  advantage  here  than  at 
Angoul£me  for  verifying  the  facts." 

"And  beside,"  thought  Derville,  "as  Monsieur  le  Due 
said,  I  act  merely  as  the  witness  to  the  inquiries  made  by  this 
confidential  agent " 

The  inn  at  Mansle,  the  Belle  Etoile,  or  Beautiful  Star,  had 
for  its  landlord  one  of  those  fat  and  burly  men  whom  we  fear 
we  may  find  no  more  on  our  return  ;  but  who  still,  ten  years 
after,  are  seen  standing  at  their  door  with  as  much  superfluous 
flesh  as  ever,  in  the  same  linen  cap,  the  same  apron,  with  the 
same  knife,  the  same  oiled  hair,  the  same  triple  chin — all 
stereotyped  by  novel-writers  from  the  immortal  Cervantes  to 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  279 

the  ever-living  Walter  Scott.  Are  they  not  all  boastful  of 
their  cookery?  have  they  not  all  "whatever  you  please  to 
order?"  and  do  they  not  all  end  by  giving  you  the  same 
hectic  chicken,  and  vegetables  cooked  with  rank  butter  ?  They 
all  boast  of  their  fine  wines,  and  all  make  you  drink  the  wine 
of  the  country. 

But  Corentin,  from  his  earliest  youth,  had  known  the  art  of 
getting  out  of  an  innkeeper  things  more  essential  to  himself 
than  doubtful  dishes  and  apocryphal  wines.  So  he  gave  him- 
self out  as  a  man  easy  to  please,  and  willing  to  leave  himself 
in  the  hands  of  the  best  cook  in  Mansle,  as  he  told  the  fat 
man. 

"  There  is  no  difficulty  about  being  the  best — I  am  the  only 
one,"  said  the  host. 

"Serve  us  in  the  side-room,"  said  Corentin,  winking  at 
Derville.  "And  do  not  be  afraid  of  setting  the  chimney  on 
fire;  we  want  to  thaw  out  the  frost  in  our  fingers." 

"It  was  not  warm  in  the  coach,"  said  Derville. 

"Is  it  far  to  Marsac?"  asked  Corentin  of  the  innkeeper's 
wife,  who  came  down  from  the  upper  regions  on  hearing  that 
the  diligence  had  dropped  two  travelers  to  sleep  there. 

"Are  you  going  to  Marsac,  monsieur?  "  replied  the  woman. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  sharply.  "Is  it  far  from  hence 
to  Marsac?"  he  repeated,  after  giving  the  woman  time  to 
notice  his  red  ribbon. 

"In  a  chaise,  a  matter  of  half  an  hour,"  said  the  inn- 
keeper's wife. 

"  Do  you  think  that  Monsieur  and  Madame  Sechard  are 
likely  to  be  there  in  winter?  " 

"  To  be  sure ;  they  live  there  all  the  year  round." 

"  It  is  now  five  o'clock.  We  shall  still  find  them  up  at 
nine." 

"  Oh  yes,  till  ten.  They  have  company  every  evening — 
the  cure,  Monsieur  Marron  the  doctor " 

"Good  people  then?"  said  Derville. 


280  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Oh,  the  best  of  good  souls,"  replied  the  woman,  "  straight- 
forward, honest — and  not  ambitious  neither.  Monsieur  Se- 
chard,  though  he  is  very  well  off — fhey  say  he  might  have 
made  millions  if  he  had  not  allowed  himself  to  be  robbed 
of  an  invention  in  the  paper-making  of  which  the  brothers 
Cointet  are  getting  the  benefit " 

"Ah,  to  be  sure,  the  Cointet  Brothers,"  said  the  insinuating 
Corentin. 

"Hold  your  tongue,"  said  the  innkeeper.  "What  can  it 
matter  to  these  gentlemen  whether  Monsieur  Sechard  has  a 
right  or  not  to  a  patent  for  his  invention  in  paper-making? 

If  you  mean  to  spend  the  night  here — at  the  Belle  Etoile " 

he  went  on,  addressing  the  travelers,  "here  is  the  book,  in 
which  you  will  please  to  put  your  names  down.  We  have  an 
officer  in  this  town  who  has  nothing  to  do,  and  spends  all  his 
time  in  nagging  at  us ' ' 

"The  devil!  "  said  Corentin,  while  Derville  entered  their 
names  and  his  profession  as  attorney  to  the  Civil  Court  in  the 
department  of  the  Seine  :  "I  fancied  the  Sechards  were  very 
rich." 

"  Some  people  say  they  are  millionaires,"  replied  the  inn- 
keeper. "But  as  to  hindering  tongues  from  wagging,  you 
might  as  well  try  to  stop  the  river  from  flowing.  Old  Sechard 
left  two  hundred  thousand  francs'  worth  of  landed  property, 
it  is  said ;  and  that  is  not  amiss  for  a  man  who  began  as  a 
workman.  Well,  and  he  may  have  had  as  much  again  in 
savings,  for  he  made  ten  or  twelve  thousand  francs  out  of  his 
land  at  least.  So,  supposing  he  were  fool  enough  not  to  invest 
his  money  for  ten  years,  that  would  be  all  told.  But  even  if 
he  lent  it  at  high  interest,  as  he  is  suspected  of  doing,  there 
would  be  three  hundred  thousand  francs  perhaps,  and  that  is 
all.  Five  hundred  thousand  francs  is  a  long  way  short  of  a 
million.  I  should  be  quite  content  with  the  difference,  and 
no  more  of  the  Belle  Etoile  for  me  !  " 

"Really?"   said   Corentin.     "Then  Monsieur  David  S6- 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  281 

chard  and  his  wife  have  not  a  fortune  of  two  or  three  mil- 
lions?" 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  the  innkeeper's  wife,  "that  is  what  the 
Cointets*  are  supposed  to  have,  who  robbed  him  of  his  inven- 
tion, and  he  does  not  get  more  than  twenty  thousand  francs 
out  of  them.  Where  do  you  suppose  such  honest  people  would 
find  millions?  They  were  very  much  pinched  while  the 
father  was  alive.  But  for  Kolb,  their  manager,  and  Madame 
Kolb,  who  is  as  much  attached  to  them  as  her  husband,  they 
would  hardly  have  had  bread  to  eat.  Why,  how  much  had 
they  with  La  Verberie?  A  thousand  crowns  a  year  perhaps." 

Corentin  drew  Derville  aside  and  said — 

"In  vino  veritas — truth  lives  under  a  cork.  For  my  part, 
I  regard  an  inn  as  the  real  registry  office  of  the  countryside ; 
the  notary  is  not  better  informed  than  the  innkeeper  as  to  all 
that  goes  in  a  small  neighborhood.  You  see  !  we  are  supposed 
to  know  all  about  the  Cointets  and  Kolb  and  the  rest. 

"  Your  tavern-keeper  is  the  living  record  of  every  incident ; 
he  does  the  work  of  the  police  without  suspecting  it.  A 
government  should  maintain  two  hundred  spies  at  most,  for 
in  a  country  like  France  there  are  ten  millions  of  simple- 
minded  informers.  However,  we  need  not  trust  to  this  re- 
port ;  though  even  in  this  little  town  something  would  be 
known  about  the  twelve  hundred  thousand  francs  sunk  in 
paying  for  the  Rubempre  estate.  We  will  not  stop  here 
long " 

"  I  hope  not !  "  Derville  put  in. 

"And  this  is  why,"  added  Corentin;  "I  have  hit  on  the 
most  natural  way  of  extracting  the  truth  from  the  mouth  of 
the  Sechard  couple.  I  rely  upon  you  to  support,  by  your 
authority  as  a  lawyer,  the  little  trick  I  shall  employ  to  enable 
you  to  hear  a  clear  and  complete  account  of  their  affairs.  After 
dinner  we  shall  set  out  to  call  on  Monsieur  Sechard,"  said 
Corentin  to  the  innkeeper's  wife.  "Have  beds  ready  for  us; 
*  See  "  Lost  Illusions." 


282  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

we  want  separate  rooms.  There  can  be  no  difficulty  'under 
the  stars.'  " 

"Oh,  monsieur,"  said  the  woman,  "we  invented  the 
sign." 

"The  pun  is  to  be  found  in  every  department,"  said 
Corentin  ;  "  it  is  no  monopoly  of  yours." 

"Dinner  is  served,  gentlemen,"  said  the  innkeeper. 

"But  where  the  devil  can  that  young  fellow  have  found  the 
money?  Is  the  anonymous  writer  accurate?  Can  it  be  the 
earnings  of  some  handsome  baggage?"  said  Derville,  as  they 
sat  down  to  dinner. 

"Ah,  that  will  be  the  subject  of  another  inquiry,"  said 
Corentin.  "Lucien  de  Rubempre.  as  the  Due  de  Chaulieu 
tells  me,  lives  with  a  converted  Jewess,  who  passes  for  a  Dutch- 
woman, and  is  called  Esther  van  Bogseck." 

"  What  a  strange  coincidence  !"  said  the  lawyer.  "I  am 
hunting  for  the  heiress  of  a  Dutchman  named  Gobseck — it  is 
the  same  name  with  a  transposition  of  consonants." 

"Well,"  said  Corentin,  "you  shall  have  full  information 
as  to  her  parentage  on  my  return  to  Paris." 

An  hour  after,  the  two  emissaries  of  the  house  of  Grandlieu 
set  out  for  La  Verberie,  where  Monsieur  and  Madame  Sechard 
were  living. 

Never  had  Lucien  felt  any  emotion  so  deep  as  that  which 
overcame  him  at  La  Verberie  when  comparing  his  own  fate 
with  that  of  his  brother-in-law.  The  two  Parisians  were  about 
to  witness  the  same  scene  that  had  so  much  struck  Lucien  a 
few  days  since.  Everything  spoke  of  peace  and  abundance. 

At  the  hour  when  the  two  strangers  were  arriving,  a  party 
of  four  persons  were  being  entertained  in  the  drawing-room 
of  La  Verberie :  the  cure  of  Marsac,  a  young  priest  of  five- 
and-twenty,  who,  at  Madame  Sechard's  request,  had  become 
tutor  to  her  little  boy  Lucien  ;  the  country  doctor,  Monsieur 
Marron  ;  the  maire  of  the  commune ;  and  an  old  colonel,  who 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  283 

grew  roses  on  a  plot  of  land  opposite  to  La  Verberie  on  the 
other  side  of  the  road.  Every  evening  during  the  winter 
these  persons  came  to  play  an  artless  game  of  boston  for  cen- 
time points,  to  borrow  the  papers,  or  return  those  they  had 
finished. 

When  Monsieur  and  Madame  Sechard  had  bought  La 
Verberie,  a  fine  house  built  of  stone,  and  roofed  with  slate, 
the  pleasure-grounds  consisted  of  a  garden  of  two  acres.  In 
the  course  of  time,  by  devoting  her  savings  to  the  purpose, 
handsome  Madame  Sechard  had  extended  her  garden  as  far 
as  a  brook,  by  cutting  down  the  vines  on  some  ground  she 
purchased,  and  replacing  them  with  grass  plots  and  clumps 
of  shrubbery.  At  the  present  time  the  house,  surrounded  by 
a  park  of  about  twenty  acres,  and  inclosed  by  walls,  was  con- 
sidered the  most  imposing  place  in  the  neighborhood. 

Old  Sechard's  former  residence,  with  the  outhouses  attached, 
was  now  used  as  the  dwelling-house  for  the  manager  of  about 
twenty  acres  of  vineyard  left  by  him,  of  five  farmsteads,  bring- 
ing in  about  six  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  ten  acres  of 
meadow-land  lying  on  the  farther  side  of  the  stream,  exactly 
opposite  the  little  park;  indeed,  Madame  Sechard  hoped  to 
include  them  in  it  the  next  year.  La  Verberie  was  already 
spoken  of  in  the  neighborhood  as  a  chateau,  and  Eve  Sechard 
was  known  as  the  Lady  of  Marsac.  Lucien,  while  flattering 
her  vanity,  had  only  followed  the  example  of  the  peasants  and 
vine-dressers.  Courtois,  the  owner  of  a  mill,  very  pictur- 
esquely situated  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  meadows  of 
La  Verberie,  was  in  treaty,  it  was  said,  with  Madame  Sechard 
for  the  sale  of  his  property ;  and  this  acquisition  would  give 
the  finishing  touch  to  the  estate  and  the  rank  of  "first-class" 
in  the  department. 

Madame  Sechard,  who  did  a  great  deal  of  good,  with  as 
much  judgment  as  generosity,  was  equally  esteemed  and  loved. 
Her  beauty,  now  really  splendid,  was  at  the  height  of  its 
bloom.  She  was  about  six-and-twenty,  but  had  preserved  all 


284  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

the  freshness  of  youth  from  living  ,in  the  tranquillity  and 
abundance  of  a  country  life.  Still  much  in  love  with  her 
husband,  she  respected  him  as  a  clever  man,  who  was  modest 
enough  to  renounce  the  display  of  fame  ;  in  short,  to  complete 
her  portrait,  it  is  enough  to  say  that  in  her  whole  existence 
she  had  never  felt  a  throb  of  her  heart  that  was  not  inspired 
by  her  husband  or  her  children. 

The  tax  paid  to  grief  by  this  happy  household  was,  as  may 
be  supposed,  the  deep  anxiety  caused  by  Lucien's  career,  in 
which  Eve  Sechard  suspected  mysteries,  which  she  dreaded 
all  the  more  because,  during  his  last  visit,  Lucien  roughly  cut 
short  all  his  sister's  questions  by  saying  that  an  ambitious 
man  owed  no  account  of  his  proceedings  to  any  one  but 
himself. 

In  six  years  Lucien  had  seen  his  sister  but  three  times,  and 
had  not  written  her  more  than  six  letters.  His  first  visit  to 
La  Verberie  had  been  on  the  occasion  of  his  mother's  death ; 
and  his  last  had  been  paid  with  a  view  to  asking  the  favor  of 
the  lie  which  was  so  necessary  to  his  advancement.  This 
gave  rise  to  a  very  serious  scene  between  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Sechard  and  their  brother,  and  left  their  happy  and 
respected  life  troubled  by  the  most  terrible  suspicions. 

The  interior  of  the  house,  as  much  altered  as  the  surround- 
ings, was  comfortable  without  luxury,  as  will  be  understood 
by  a  glance  round  the  room  where  the  little  party  were  now 
assembled.  A  pretty  Aubusson  carpet,  hangings  of  gray  cot- 
ton twill  bound  with  green  silk  braid,  the  woodwork  painted 
to  imitate  Spa  wood,  carved  mahogany  furniture  covered  with 
gray  woolen  stuff  and  green  gimp,  with  flower-stands,  gay 
with  flowers  in  spite  of  the  time  of  year,  presented  a  very 
pleasing  and  homelike  aspect.  The  window  curtains,  of  green 
brocade,  the  chimney  ornaments,  and  the  mirror  frames  were 
untainted  by  the  bad  taste  that  spoils  everything  in  the 
provinces;  and  the  smallest  details,  all  elegant  and  appropri- 
ate, gave  the  mind  and  eye  a  sense  of  repose  and  of  the  poetry 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  285 

which  a  clever  and  loving  woman  can  and  ought  to  infuse  into 
her  home. 

Madame  Sechard,  still  in  mourning  for  her  mother,  sat  by 
the  fire  working  at  some  large  piece  of  tapestry  with  the  help 
of  Madame  Kolb,  the  housekeeper,  to  whom  she  intrusted  all 
the  minor  cares  of  the  household. 

Just  as  the  hackney-coach  reached  the  first  houses  of  Marsac, 
the  usual  party  at  La  Verberie  received  the  addition  of  Cour- 
tois  the  miller,  a  widower,  who  was  anxious  to  retire  from 
business,  and  who  hoped  to  sell  his  property  well,  since  Ma- 
dame Eve  was  anxious  to  have  it — Courtois  knew  why. 

"A  chaise  has  stopped  at  the  door  !  "  said  Courtois,  hearing 
the  sound  of  wheels  outside;  "  and  to  judge  by  the  clatter  of 
metal,  it  belongs  to  these  parts " 

"Postel  and  his  wife  have  come  to  see  us,  no  doubt,"  said 
the  doctor. 

"No,"  said  Courtois,  "the  chaise  has  come  from  Mansle." 

"Montame,"  said  Kolb,  the  burly  Alsatian  we  have  made 
acquaintance  with  in  a  former  volume  ("Lost  Illusions"), 
"  here  is  a  lawyer  from  Paris  who  wants  to  speak  with  mon- 
sieur." 

"A  lawyer !  "  cried  Sechard j  "  the  very  word  gives  me  the 
colic." 

"  Thank  you  !  "  said  the  Mayor  of  Marsac,  named  Cachan, 
who  for  twenty  years  had  been  an  attorney  at  Angouldme,  and 
who  had  once  been  required  to  sue  Sechard. 

"  My  poor  David  will  never  improve ;  he  will  always  be 
absent-minded  !  "  said  Eve,  smiling. 

"A  lawyer  from  Paris,"  said  Courtois.  "Then  you  have 
business  there?  " 

"No,"  said  Eve. 

"  But  you  have  a  brother  there,"  observed  Courtois. 

"  Take  care  lest  he  should  have  anything  to  say  about  old 
Sechard's  estate,"  said  Cachan.  "He  had  his  finger  in  some 
very  queer  concerns,  worthy  man  !  " 


286  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

- 

Corentin  and  Derville,  on  entering  the  room,  after  bowing 
to  the  company  and  giving  their  names,  begged  to  have  a 
private  interview  with  Monsieur  and  Madame  Sechard. 

"By  all  means,"  said  Sechard.  "But  is  it  a  matter  of 
business?" 

"Solely  a  matter  regarding  your  father's  property,"  said 
Corentin. 

"  Then  I  beg  you  will  allow  Monsieur — the  Maire,  a  lawyer 
formerly  at  Angouldme — to  be  present  also." 

"Are  you  Monsieur  Derville?"  said  Cachan,  addressing 
Corentin. 

"No,  monsieur,  this  is  Monsieur  Derville,"  replied  Co- 
rentin, introducing  the  lawyer,  who  bowed. 

"  But,"  said  Sechard,  "we  are,  so  to  speak,  a  family  party; 
we  have  no  secrets  from  our  neighbors ;  there  is  no  need  to 
retire  to  my  study,  where  there  is  no  fire — our  life  is  in  the 
sight  of  all  men " 

"But  your  father's,"  said  Corentin,  "was  involved  in  cer- 
tain mysteries  which  perhaps  you  would  rather  not  make 
public." 

"Is  it  anything  that  we  need  blush  for?"  said  Eve,  in 
alarm. 

"  Oh,  no  !  a  sin  of  his  youth,"  said  Corentin,  coldly  setting 
one  of  his  mouse-traps.  "  Monsieur,  your  father  left  an  elder 
son " 

"Oh,  the  old  rascal!"  cried  Courtois.  "He  was  never 
very  fond  of  you,  Monsieur  Sechard,  and  he  kept  that  secret 
from  you,  the  deep  old  dog  !  Now  I  understand  what  he 
meant  when  he  used  to  say  to  me :  '  You  shall  see  what  you 
shall  see  when  I  am  under  the  turf.'  ' 

"Do  not  be  dismayed,  monsieur,"  said  Corentin  to 
Sechard,  while  he  watched  Eve  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"  A  brother  !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "  Then  your  inheri- 
tance is  divided  into  two  !  " 

Derville   was    affecting    to   examine   the   fine   engravings, 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  287 

proofs  before  letters,  which  hung  on  the  drawing-room 
walls. 

"  Do  not  be  uneasy,  madame,"  Corentin  went  on,  seeing 
amazement  written  on  Madame  Sechard's  handsome  features, 
"it  is  only  a  natural  son.  The  rights  of  a  natural  son  are  not 
the  same  as  those  of  a  legitimate  child.  This  man  is  in  the 
depths  of  poverty,  and  he  has  a  right  to  a  certain  sum  calcu- 
lated on  the  amount  of  the  estate.  The  millions  left  by  your 
father " 

At  the  word  millions  there  was  a  perfectly  unanimous  cry 
from  all  the  persons  present.  And  now  Derville  ceased  to 
study  the  prints. 

"Old  Sechard?  Millions?"  said  Courtois.  "Who  on 
earth  told  you  that?  Some  peasant " 

"Monsieur,"  said  Cachan,  "you  are  not  attached  to  the 
Treasury  ?  You  may  be  told  all  the  facts ' ' 

"  Be  quite  easy,"  said  Corentin,  "I  give  you  my  word  of 
honor  I  am  not  employed  by  the  Treasury." 

Cachan,  who  had  just  signed  to  everybody  to  say  nothing, 
gave  expression  to  his  satisfaction. 

"  Monsieur,"  Corentin  went  on,  "  if  the  whole  estate  were 
but  a  million,  a  natural  child's  share  would  still  be  something 
considerable.  But  we  have  not  come  to  threaten  a  lawsuit ;  on 
the  contrary,  our  purpose  is  to  propose  that  you  should  hand 
over  one  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  we  will  depart " 

"One  hundred  thousand  francs!"  cried  Cachan,  inter- 
rupting him.  "  But,  monsieur,  old  Sechard  left  twenty  acres 
of  vineyard,  five  small  farms,  ten  acres  of  meadow-land  here, 
and  not  a  sou  beside " 

"Nothing  on  earth,"  cried  David  Sechard,  "would  induce 
me  to  tell  a  lie,  and  less  on  a  question  of  money  than  on  any 
other.  Monsieur,"  he  said  turning  to  Corentin  and  Derville, 
"my  father  left  us,  beside  the  land " 

Courtois  and  Cachan  signaled  in  vain  to  Sechard ;  he  went 
quietly  on — 


288  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"Three  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  raises  the  whole 
estate  to  about  five  hundred  thousand  francs." 

"Monsieur  Cachan,"  asked  Eve  Sechard,  "what  propor- 
tion does  the  law  allot  to  a  natural  child?  " 

"Madame,"  said  Corentin,  "we  are  not  Turks;  we  only 
require  you  to  swear  before  these  gentlemen  that  you  did  not 
inherit  more  than  five  hundred  thousand  francs  from  your 
father-in-law,  and  we  can  come  to  an  understanding." 

"  First  give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  you  really  are  a 
lawyer,"  said  Cachan  to  Derville. 

"Here  is  my  passport,"  replied  Derville,  handing  him  a 
paper  folded  in  four;  "and  monsieur  is  not,  as  you  might 
suppose,  an  inspector  from  the  Treasury,  so  be  easy,"  he  added. 
"  We  had  an  important  reason  for  wanting  to  know  the  truth 
as  to  the  Sechard  estate,  and  we  now  know  it." 

Derville  took  Madame  Sechard's  hand  and  led  her  very 
courteously  to  the  further  end  of  the  room. 

"Madame,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "if  it  were  not  that 
the  honor  and  future  prospects  of  the  house  of  Grandlieu  are 
implicated  in  this  affair,  I  would  never  have  lent  myself  to 
the  stratagem  devised  by  this  gentleman  of  the  red  ribbon. 
But  you  must  forgive  him ;  it  was  necessary  to  detect  the 
falsehood  by  means  of  which  your  brother  has  stolen  a  march 
on  the  beliefs  of  that  ancient  family.  Beware  now  of  allow- 
ing it  to  be  supposed  that  you  have  given  your  brother 
twelve  hundred  thousand  francs  to  repurchase  the  Rubempre 
estates " 

"  Twelve  hundred  thousand  francs  !  "  cried  Madame  Sech- 
ard, turning  pale.  "  Where  did  he  get  them,  wretched  boy?  " 

"Ah!  that  is  the  question,"  replied  Derville.  "I  fear 
that  the  source  of  his  wealth  is  far  from  pure." 

The  tears  rose  to  Eve's  eyes,  as  her  neighbors  could  see. 

"  We  have,  perhaps,  done  you  a  great  service  by  saving  you 
from  abetting  a  falsehood  of  which  the  results  may  be  posi- 
tively dangerous,"  the  lawyer  went  on. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  289 

Derville  left  Madame  Sechard  sitting  pale  and  dejected 
with  tears  on  her  cheeks,  and  bowed  to  the  company. 

"  To  Mansle  !  "  said  Corentin  to  the  little  boy  who  drove 
the  chaise. 

There  was  but  one  vacant  place  in  the  diligence  from  Bor- 
deaux to  Paris ;  Derville  begged  Corentin  to  allow  him  to  take 
it,  urging  a  press  of  business;  but  in  his  soul  he  was  distrustful 
of  his  traveling  companion,  whose  diplomatic  dexterity  and 
coolness  struck  him  as  being  the  result  of  practice.  Corentin 
remained  three  days  longer  at  Mansle,  unable  to  get  away ; 
he  was  obliged  to  secure  a  place  in  the  Paris  coach  by  writing 
to  Bordeaux,  and  did  not  get  back  till  nine  days  after  leaving 
home. 

Peyrade,  meanwhile,  had  called  every  morning,  either  at 
Passy  or  in  Paris,  to  inquire  whether  Corentin  had  returned. 
On  the  eighth  day  he  left  at  each  house  a  note,  written  in 
their  peculiar  cypher,  to  explain  to  his  friend  what  death 
hung  over  him,  and  to  tell  him  of  Lydie's  abduction  and  the 
horrible  end  to  which  his  enemies  had  devoted  them.  Pey- 
rade bereft  of  Corentin,  but  seconded  by  Contenson,  still  kept 
up  his  disguise  as  a  nabob.  Even  though  his  invisible  foes 
had  discovered  him,  he  very  wisely  reflected  that  he  might 
glean  some  light  on  the  matter  by  remaining  on  the  field  of 
the  contest. 

Contenson  had  brought  all  his  experience  into  play  in  his 
search  for  Lydie,  and  hoped  to  discover  in  what  house  she 
was  hidden  ;  but  as  the  days  went  by,  the  impossibility,  abso- 
lutely demonstrated,  of  tracing  the  slightest  clue,  added,  hour 
by  hour,  to  Peyrade's  despair.  The  old  spy  had  a  sort  of 
guard  about  him  of  twelve  or  fifteen  of  the  most  experienced 
detectives.  They  watched  the  neighborhood  of  the  Rue  des 
Moineaux  and  the  Rue  Taitbout — where  he  lived,  as  a  nabob, 
with  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  During  the  last  three  days  of 
the  term  granted  by  Asia  to  reinstate  Lucien  on  his  old  footing 
in  the  Hotel  de  Grandlieu,  Contenson  never  left  the  veteran 
19 


290  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

of  the  old  general  police  office.  And  the  poetic  terror  shed 
throughout  the  forests  of  America  by  the  arts  of  inimical  and 
warring  tribes,  of  whfch  Cooper  made  such  good  use  in  his 
novels,  was  here  associated  with  the  petty  details  of  Paris  life. 
The  foot-passengers,  the  stores,  the  hacks,  a  figure  standing  at 
a  window — everything  had  to  the  human  cyphers  to  whom 
old  Peyrade  had  intrusted  his  safety  the  thrilling  interest 
which  attaches  in  Cooper's  romances  to  a  beaver- village,  a 
rock,  a  bison-robe,  a  floating  canoe,  a  weed  straggling  over 
the  water. 

"  If  the  Spaniard  is  gone  away,  you  have  nothing  to  fear," 
said  Contenson  to  Peyrade,  remarking  on  the  perfect  peace 
they  lived  in. 

"  But  if  he  is  not  gone  ?  "  observed  Peyrade. 

"  He  took  one  of  my  men  on  the  back  of  the  chaise ;  but 
at  Blois,  my  man  having  to  get  down,  could  not  catch  the 
chaise  up  again." 

Five  days  after  Derville's  return,  Lucien  one  morning  had 
a  call  from  Rastignac. 

"I  am  in  despair,  my  dear  boy,"  said  his  visitor,  "at 
finding  myself  compelled  to  deliver  a  message  which  is  in- 
trusted to  me  because  we  are  known  to  be  intimate.  Your 
marriage  is  broken  off  beyond  all  hope  of  reconciliation. 
Never  set  foot  again  in  the  Hotel  de  Grandlieu.  To  marry 
Clotilde  you  must  wait  till  her  father  dies,  and  he  is  too  selfish 
to  die  yet  a  while.  Old  whist-players  sit  at  table — the  card- 
table — very  late. 

"  Clotilde  is  setting  out  for  Italy  with  Madeleine  de  Lenon- 
court-Chaulieu.  The  poor  girl  is  so  madly  in  love  with  you, 
my  dear  fellow,  that  they  have  to  keep  an  eye  on  her;  she 
was  bent  on  coming  to  see  you,  and  had  plotted  an  escape. 
That  may  comfort  you  in  misfortune  !  " 

Lucien  made  no  reply,  instead  he  sat  moodily  gazing  at 
Rastignac, 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  291 

"And  is  it  a  misfortune,  after  all?"  his  friend  went  on. 
"  You  will  easily  find  a  girl  as  well  born  and  better  looking 
than  Clotilde  !  Madame  de  Serizy  will  find  you  a  wife  out  of 
spite;  she  cannot  endure  the  Grandlieus,  who  never  would 
have  anything  to  say  to  her.  She  has  a  niece,  little  Clemence 
du  Rouvre " 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Lucien  at  length,  "since  that  supper 
I  am  not  on  terms  with  Madame  de  Serizy — she  saw  me  in 
Esther's  box,  and  made  a  scene — and  I  left  her  to  herself." 

"  A  woman  of  forty  does  not  long  keep  up  a  quarrel  with 
so  handsome  a  man  as  you  are,"  said  Rastignac.  "  I  know 
something  of  these  sunsets.  It  lasts  ten  minutes  in  the  sky, 
and  ten  years  in  a  woman's  heart." 

"  I  have  waited  a  week  to  hear  from  her." 

"  Go  and  see  her." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  must  now." 

"Are  you  coming  at  any  rate  to  the  Val-Noble's?  Her 
nabob  is  returning  the  supper  given  by  Nucingen." 

"  I  am  asked,  and  I  shall  go,"  said  Lucien  gravely. 

The  day  after  this  confirmation  of  his  disaster,  which  Carlos 
heard  of  at  once  from  Asia,  Lucien  went  to  the  Rue  Taitbout 
with  Rastignac  and  Nucingen. 

At  midnight  nearly  all  the  personages  of  this  drama  were 
assembled  in  the  dining-room  that  had  formerly  been  Esther's 
— a  drama  of  which  the  interest  lay  hidden  under  the  very 
bed  of  these  tumultuous  lives,  and  was  known  only  to  Esther, 
to  Lucien,  to  Peyrade,  to  Contenson,  the  mulatto,  and  to 
Paccard,  who  attended  his  mistress.  Asia,  without  its  being 
known  to  Contenson  and  Peyrade,  had  been  asked  by  Madame 
du  Val-Noble  to  come  and  help  her  cook. 

As  they  sat  down  to  table,  Peyrade,  who  had  given  Madame 
du  Val-Noble  five  hundred  francs  that  the  thing  might  be  well 
done,  found  under  his  napkin  a  scrap  of  paper  on  which  these 
words  were  written  in  pencil :  "  The  ten  days  are  up  at  the 
moment  when  you  sit  down  to  supper." 


292  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Peyrade  handed  the  paper  to  Contenson,  who  was  standing 
behind  him,  saying  in  English — 

"Did  you  put  my, name  here?" 

Contenson  read  by  the  light  of  the  wax-candles  this  MENE, 
TEKEL,  UPHARSIN,  and  slipped  the  scrap  into  his  pocket ;  but 
he  knew  how  difficult  it  is  to  verify  a  handwriting  in  pencil, 
and,  above  all,  a  sentence  written  in  Roman  capitals,  that 
is  to  say,  with  mathematical  lines,  since  capital  letters  are 
wholly  made  up  of  straight  lines  and  curves,  in  which  it  is 
impossible  to  detect  any  trick  of  the  hand,  as  in  what  is  called 
running-hand. 

The  supper  was  absolutely  devoid  of  spirit.  Peyrade  was 
visibly  absent-minded.  Of  the  men  about  town  who  give  life 
to  a  supper,  only  Rastignac  and  Lucien  were  present.  Lucien 
was  gloomy  and  absorbed  in  thought ;  Rastignac,  who  had 
lost  two  thousand  francs  before  supper,  ate  and  drank  with  the 
hope  of  recovering  them  later.  The  three  women,  stricken  by 
this  chill,  looked  at  each  other.  Dullness  deprived  the  dishes 
of  all  relish.  Suppers,  like  plays  and  books,  have  their  good 
and  bad  luck. 

At  the  end  of  the  meal  ices  were  served,  of  the  kind  called 
plombieres.  As  everybody  knows,  this  kind  of  dessert  has  deli- 
cate preserved  fruits  laid  on  the  top  of  the  ice,  which  is 
served  in  a  little  glass,  not  heaped  above  the  rim.  These 
ices  had  been  ordered  by  Madame  du  Val-Noble  of  Tortoni, 
whose  famous  store  is  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Taitbout  and 
the  boulevard. 

The  cook  called  Contenson  out  of  the  room  to  pay  the 
bill. 

Contenson,  who  thought  this  demand  on  the  part  of  the 
store-boy  rather  strange,  went  downstairs  and  startled  him  by 
saying — 

"Then  you  have  not  come  from  Tortoni's?"  and  went 
straight  upstairs  again. 

Paccard  had  meanwhile  handed  the  ices  to  the  company  in 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  293 

his  absence.  The  mulatto  had  hardly  reached  the  door  when 
one  of  the  police  constables  who  had  kept  watch  in  the  Rue 
des  Moineaux  called  up  the  stairs — 

"Number  twenty-seven." 

"  What's  up?"  replied  Contenson,  flying  down  again. 

"Tell  Papa  that  his  daughter  has  come  home;  but,  good 
God  !  in  what  a  state.  Tell  him  lo  come  at  once ;  she  is 
dying." 

At  the  moment  when  Contenson  reentered  the  dining-room, 
old  Peyrade,  who  had  drunk  a  great  deal,  was  swallowing 
the  cherry  off  his  ice.  They  were  drinking  to  the  health  of 
Madame  du  Val-Noble ;  the  nabob  filled  his  glass  with  Con- 
stantia  and  emptied  it. 

In  spite  of  his  distress  at  the  news  he  had  to  give  Peyrade, 
Contenson  was  struck  by  the  eager  attention  with  which  Pac- 
card  was  looking  at  the  nabob.  His  eyes  sparkled  like  two 
fixed  flames.  Although  it  seemed  important,  still  this  could 
not  delay  the  mulatto,  who  leaned  over  his  master,  just  as 
Peyrade  set  his  glass  down. 

"Lydie  is  at  home,"  said  Contenson,  "in  a  very  sad 
state." 

Peyrade  rattled  out  the  most  French  of  all  French  oaths 
with  such  a  strong  Southern  accent  that  all  the  guests  looked 
up  in  amazement.  Peyrade,  discovering  his  blunder,  ac- 
knowledged his  disguise  by  saying  to  Contenson  in  good 
French — 

"  Find  me  a  coach — I'm  off." 

Every  one  rose. 

"Why,  who  are  you?"  said  Lucien. 

"  Ja — who?"  said  the  baron. 

"  Bixiou  told  me  you  shammed  Englishman  better  than  he 
could,  and  I  would  not  believe  him,"  said  Rastignac. 

"  Some  bankrupt  caught  in  disguise,"  said  duTillet  loudly. 
"  I  suspected  as  much  !  " 

"A  strange  place  is  Paris!"  said  Madame  du  Val-Noble. 


294  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"After  being  bankrupt  in  his  own  part  of  the  town,  a  mer- 
chant turns  up  as  a  nabob  or  a  dandy  in  the  Champs-Elysees 
with  impunity !  Oh  !  I  am  unlucky !  bankrupts  are  my 
bane." 

"  Every  flower  has  its  peculiar  blight !  "  said  Esther  quietly. 
"Mine  is  like  Cleopatra's — an  asp." 

"Who  am  I?"  echoed  Peyrade  from  the  door.  "You 
will  know  ere  long ;  for  if  I  die,  I  will  rise  from  my  grave  to 
clutch  your  feet  every  night !  " 

He  looked  at  Esther  and  Lucien  as  he  spoke,  then  he  took 
advantage  of  the  general  dismay  to  vanish  with  the  utmost 
rapidity,  meaning  to  run  home  without  waiting  for  the  coach. 
In  the  street  the  spy  was  gripped  by  the  arm  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold  of  the  outer  gate.  It  was  Asia,  wrapped  in  a  black 
hood  such  as  ladies  then  wore  on  leaving  a  ball. 

"  Send  for  the  sacraments,  Papa  Peyrade,"  said  she,  in  the 
voice  that  had  already  prophesied  ill. 

A  coach  was  waiting.  Asia  jumped  in,  and  the  carriage 
vanished  as  though  the  wind  had  swept  it  away.  There  were 
five  carriages  in  all  waiting ;  Peyrade's  men  could  find  out 
nothing. 

On  reaching  his  house  in  the  Rue  des  Vignes,  one  of  the 
quietest  and  prettiest  nooks  of  the  little  town  of  Passy,  Coren- 
tin,  who  was  known  there  as  a  retired  merchant  passionately 
devoted  to  gardening,  found  his  friend  Peyrade's  note  in 
cypher.  Instead  of  resting,  he  got  into  the  hackney-coach 
that  had  brought  him  thither,  and  was  driven  to  the  Rue  des 
Moineaux,  where  he  found  only  Katt.  From  her  he  heard  of 
Lydie's  disappearance,  and  remained  astounded  at  Peyrade's 
and  his  own  want  of  foresight. 

"But  they  do  not  know  me  yet,"  said  he  to  himself. 
"This  crew  is  capable  of  anything;  I  must  find  out  if  they 
are  killing  Peyrade ;  for  if  so,  I  must  not  be  seen  any  more 
about " 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  295 

The  viler  a  man's  life  is,  the  more  he  clings  to  it ;  it  becomes 
at  every  moment  a  protest  and  a  revenge. 

Corentin  went  back  to  the  hack,  and  drove  to  his  rooms  to 
assume  the  disguise  of  a  feeble  old  man,  in  a  scanty  greenish 
overcoat  and  a  tow  wig.  Then  he  returned  on  foot,  prompted 
by  his  friendship  for  Peyrade.  He  intended  to  give  instruc- 
tions to  his  most  devoted  and  cleverest  underlings. 

As  he  went  along  the  Rue  Saint-Honore  to  reach  the  Rue 
Saint-Roch  from  the  Place  Vendome,  he  came  up  behind  a 
girl  in  slippers,  and  dressed  as  a  woman  dresses  for  the  night. 
She  had  on  a  white  bed-jacket  and  a  nightcap,  and  from 
time  to  time  gave  vent  to  a  sob  and  an  involuntary  groan. 
Corentin  outpaced  her,  and,  turning  round,  recognized  Lydie. 

"  I  am  a  friend  of  your  father's,  of  Monsieur  Canquoelle's," 
said  he  in  his  natural  voice. 

"Ah !  then  here  at  last  is  some  one  I  can  safely  trust !  " 
said  she. 

"Do  not  seem  to  have  recognized  me,"  Corentin  went  on, 
"  for  we  are  pursued  by  relentless  foes,  and  are  obliged  to  dis- 
guise ourselves.  But  tell  me  what  has  befallen  you?" 

"Oh,  monsieur,"  said  the  poor  child,  "the  facts  but  not 
the  story  can  be  told — I  am  ruined,  lost,  and  I  do  not  know 
how—" 

"Whence  have  you  come?" 

"  I  don't  know,  monsieur.  I  fled  with  such  precipitancy, 
I  have  come  through  so  many  streets,  round  so  many  turnings, 
fancying  I  was  being  followed.  And  when  I  met  any  one 
that  seemed  decent,  I  asked  my  way  to  get  back  to  the  boule- 
vards, so  as  to  find  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  And  at  last,  after 
walking What  o'clock  is  it,  monsieur?" 

"  Half-past  eleven,"  said  Corentin. 

"  I  escaped  at  nightfall,"  said  Lydie.  "I  have  been  walk- 
ing for  five  hours." 

"  Well,  come  along ;  you  can  rest  now ;  you  will  find  your 
good  Katt." 


296  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  there  is  no  rest  for  me  !  I  only  want  to 
rest  in  the  grave,  and  I  will  go  and  wait  for  death  in  a  con- 
vent if  I  am  worthy  to  be  admitted " 

"  Poor  little  girl !     But  you  struggled  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes !  Oh !  if  you  "could  only  imagine  the  abject 
creatures  they  placed  me  with !  ' ' 

"  They  sent  you  to  sleep,  no  doubt  ?  " 

"Ah!  that  is  it!"  cried  poor  Lydie.  "A  little  more 
strength  and  I  should  be  at  home.  I  feel  I  am  dropping,  and 
my  brain  is  not  quite  clear.  Just  now  I  fancied  I  was  in  a 
garden " 

Corentin  took  Lydie  in  his  arms,  and  she  lost  consciousness; 
he  carried  her  upstairs. 

"Katt!"  he  called. 

Katt  came  out  with  exclamations  of  joy. 

"  Don't  be  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  be  glad  !  "  said  Corentin 
gravely ;  "  the  girl  is  very  ill." 

When  Lydie  was  laid  on  her  bed  and  recognized  her  own 
room  by  the  light  of  two  candles  that  Katt  lighted,  she  became 
delirious.  She  sang  scraps  of  pretty  airs,  broken  by  vocifera- 
tions of  horrible  sentences  she  had  heard.  Her  pretty  face 
was  mottled  with  purple  patches.  She  mixed  up  the  remi- 
niscences of  her  pure  childhood  with  those  of  these  ten  days  of 
infamy.  Katt  sat  weeping;  Corentin  paced  the  room,  stop- 
ping now  and  again  to  gaze  at  Lydie. 

"She  is  paying  her  father's  debt,"  said  he.  "Is  there  a 
providence  above?  Oh,  I  was  wise  not  to  have  a  family. 
On  my  word  of  honor,  a  child  is  indeed  a  hostage  given  to 
misfortune,  as  some  philosopher  has  said." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  the  poor  child,  sitting  up  in  bed  and  throw- 
ing back  her  fine  long  hair,  "  instead  of  lying  here,  Katt,  I 
ought  to  be  stretched  on  the  sand  at  the  bottom  of  the  Seine  !" 

"Katt,  instead  of  crying  and  looking  at  your  child,  which 
will  never  cure  her,  you  ought  to  go  for  a"  doctor ;  the  medi- 
eal  officer  in  the  first  instance,  and  then  Monsieur  Desplein 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  297 

and  Monsieur  Bianchon We  must  save  this  innocent 

creature." 

And  Corentin  wrote  down  the  addresses  of  these  two  famous 
physicians. 

At  this  moment,  up  the  stairs  came  some  one  to  whom  they 
were  familiar,  and  the  door  was  opened.  Peyrade,  in  a  vio- 
lent sweat,  his  face  purple,  his  eyes  almost  blood-stained,  and 
gasping  like  a  dolphin,  rushed  from  the  oute-  door  to  Lydie's 
room,  exclaiming — 

"  Where  is  my  child  ?  " 

He  saw  a  melancholy  sign  from  Corentin,  and  his  eyes 
followed  his  friend's  hand.  Lydie's  condition  can  only  be 
compared  to  that  of  a  flower  tenderly  cherished  by  a  gardener, 
now  fallen  from  its  stem,  and  crushed  by  the  iron-clamped 
shoes  of  some  peasant.  Ascribe  this  simile  to  a  father's  heart, 
and  you  will  understand  the  blow  that  fell  on  Peyrade;  the 
tears  started  to  his  eyes. 

"  You  are  crying  !     It  is  my  father  !  "  said  the  girl. 

She  could  still  recognize  her  father ;  she  got  out  of  bed  and 
fell  on  her  knees  at  the  old  man's  side  as  he  sank  into  an  arm- 
chair. 

"Forgive  me,  papa,"  said  she  in  a  tone  that  pierced  Pey- 
rade's  heart,  and  at  the  same  moment  he  was  conscious  of 
what  felt  like  a  tremendous  blow  on  his  head. 

"  I  am  dying  ! — the  villains  !  "  were  his  last  words. 

Corentin  tried  to  help  his  friend,  and  received  his  latest 
breath. 

"  Dead  !  Poisoned  !  "  said  he  to  himself.  "  Ah  !  here  is 
the  doctor!  "  he  exclaimed,  hearing  the  sound  of  wheels. 

Contenson,  who  came  with  his  mulatto  disguise  removed, 
stood  like  a  bronze  statue  as  he  heard  Lydie  say — 

"  Then  you  do  not  forgive  me,  father  ?  But  it  was  not  my 
fault !  " 

She  did  not  understand  that  her  father  was  dead. 

"Oh,  how  he  stares  at  me !  "  cried  the  poor  crazy  girl. 


298  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  We  must  close  his  eyes,"  said  Corentin,  lifting  Peyrade 
on  to  the  bed. 

"We  are  doing  a  stupid  thing,"  said  Corentin.  "Let  us 
carry  him  into  his  own  room.  His  daughter  is  half  demented, 
and  she  will  go  quite  mad  when  she  sees  that  he  is  dead ;  she 
will  fancy  that  she  has  killed  him." 

Lydie,  seeing  them  carry  away  her  father,  looked  quite 
stupefied. 

"  There  lies  my  only  friend  !  "  said  Corentin,  seeming  much 
moved  when  Peyrade  was  laid  out  on  the  bed  in  his  own  room. 
"  In  all  his  life  he  never  had  but  one  impulse  of  cupidity,  and 
that  was  for  his  daughter !  Let  him  be  an  example  to  you, 
Contenson.  Every  line  of  life  has  its  code  of  honor.  Pey- 
rade did  wrong  when  he  mixed  himself  up  with  private  con- 
cerns; we  have  no  business  to  meddle  with  any  but  public 
cases. 

"But  come  what  may,  I  swear,"  said  he  with  a  voice,  an 
emphasis,  a  look  that  struck  horror  into  Contenson,  "  to 
avenge  my  poor  Peyrade  !  I  will  discover  the  men  who  are 
guilty  of  his  death  and  of  his  daughter's  ruin.  And  as  sure 
as  I  am  myself,  as  I  have  yet  a  few  days  to  live,  which  I  will 
risk  to  accomplish  that  vengeance,  every  man  of  them  shall 
die  at  four  o'clock,  in  good  health,  by  a  clean  shave  on  the 
Place  de  Greve." 

"And  I  will  help  you,"  said  Contenson  with  feeling. 

Nothing,  in  fact,  is  more  heart-stirring  than  the  spectacle 
of  passion  in  a  cold,  self-contained,  and  methodical  man,  in 
whom,  for  twenty  years,  no  one  has  ever  detected  the  smallest 
impulse  of  sentiment.  It  is  like  a  molten  bar  of  iron  which 
melts  everything  it  touches.  And  Contenson  was  moved  to 
his  depths. 

"Poor  old  Canquoelle  !  "  said  he,  looking  at  Corentin. 
"  He  has  treated  me  many  a  time.  And,  I  tell  you,  only 
your  bad  sort  know  how  to  do  such  things— how  often  has  he 
given  me  ten  francs  to  go  and  gamble  with." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  299 

After  this  funeral  oration,  Peyrade's  two  avengers  went 
back  to  Lydie's  room,  hearing  Katt  and  the  medical  officer 
from  the  mairie  on  the  stairs. 

"Go  and  fetch  the  chief  of  the  police,"  said  Corentin. 
"The  public  prosecutor  will  not  find  grounds  for  a  prosecution 
in  the  case  ;  still,  we  will  report  it  to  the  prefecture  ;  it  may, 
perhaps,  be  of  some  use. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  went  on  to  the  medical  officer,  "  in  this 
room  you  will  see  a  dead  man.  I  do  not  believe  that  he  died 
from  natural  causes  ;  you  will  be  good  enough  to  make  a  post- 
mortem in  the  presence  of  the  chief  of  the  police,  who  will 
come  at  my  request.  Try  to  discover  some  traces  of  poison. 
You  will,  in  a  few  minutes,  have  the  opinion  of  Monsieur 
Desplein  and  Monsieur  Bianchon,  for  whom  I  have  sent  to 
examine  the  daughter  of  my  best  friend ;  she  is  in  a  worse 
plight  than  he,  though  he  is  dead." 

"  I  have  no  need  of  those  gentlemen's  assistance  in  the 
exercise  of  my  duty,"  said  the  medical  officer. 

"Well,  well,"  thought  Corentin.  "  Let  us  have  no  clash- 
ing, monsieur,"  he  said.  "In  two  words  I  give  you  my 
opinion  :  Those  who  have  just  murdered  the  father  have  also 
ruined  the  daughter." 

By  daylight  Lydie  had  yielded  to  fatigue ;  when  the  great 
surgeon  and  the  young  physician  arrived  she  was  found  to  be 
sound  asleep. 

The  doctor,  whose  duty  it  was  to  sign  the  death  certificate, 
had  now  opened  Peyrade's  body,  and  was  seeking  the  cause 
of  death. 

"While  waiting  for  your  patient  to  awake,"  said  Corentin 
to  the  two  famous  doctors,  "  would  you  join  one  of  your  pro- 
fessional brethren  in  an  examination  which  cannot  fail  to 
interest  you,  and  your  opinion  will  be  valuable  in  case  of  an 
inquiry." 

"  Your  relation  died  of  apoplexy,"  said  the  official.  "There 
are  all  the  symptoms  of  violent  congestion  of  the  brain." 


300  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Examine  him,  gentlemen,  and  see  if  there  is  no  poison 
capable  of  producing  similar  symptoms." 

"  The  stomach  is,  in  fact,  full  of  food  substances  ;  but,  short 
of  chemical  analysis,  I  find  no  evidence  of  poison,"  said  the 
official  doctor. 

"  If  the  characters  of  cerebral  congestion  are  well  ascer- 
tained, we  have  here,  considering  the  patient's  age,  a  sufficient 
cause  of  death,"  observed  Desplein,  looking  at  the  enormous 
mass  of  material. 

"  Did  he  sup  here  ?  "  asked  Bianchon. 

"  No,"  said  Corentin  ;  "  he  came  here  in  great  haste  from 
the  boulevard,  and  found  his  daughter  ruined " 

"That  was  the  poison  if  he  loved  his  daughter,"  said 
Bianchon. 

"What  known  poison  could  produce  a  similar  effect?" 
asked  Corentin,  clinging  to  his  idea. 

"  There  is  but  one,"  said  Desplein,  after  a  careful  examina- 
tion. "  It  is  a  poison  found  in  the  Malayan  Archipelago, 
and  derived  from  trees,  as  yet  but  little  known,  of  the  strychnos 
family ;  it  is  used  to  poison  that  dangerous  weapon,  the  Malay 
kris.  At  least,  so  it  is  reported." 

The  police  commissioner  presently  arrived  ;  Corentin  told 
him  his  suspicions,  and  begged  him  to  draw  up  a  report,  tell- 
ing him  where  and  with  whom  Peyrade  had  supped,  and  the 
causes  of  the  state  in  which  he  found  Lydie. 

Corentin  then  went  to  Lydie's  rooms  ;  Desplein  and  Bian- 
chon had  been  examining  the  poor  child.  He  met  them  at 
the  door. 

"Well,  gentlemen?"  asked  Corentin. 

"  Place  the  girl  under  medical  care ;  unless  she  recovers 
her  wits  when  her  child  is  born — if  indeed  she  should  have  a 
child — she  will  end  her  days  melancholy-mad.  There  is  no 
hope  of  a  cure  but  in  the  maternal  instinct,  if  it  can  be 
aroused." 

Corentin  paid  each  of  the  physicians  forty  francs  in  gold, 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  301 

and  then  turned  to  the  police  commissioner,  who  had  pulled 
him  by  the  sleeve. 

"The  medical  officer  insists  on  it  that  death  was  natural," 
said  this  functionary,  "and  I  can  hardly  report  the  case, 
especially  as  the  dead  man  was  old  Canquoelle ;  he  had  his 
finger  in  too  many  pies,  and  we  should  not  be. sure  whom 
we  might  run  foul  of.  Men  like  that  die  to  order  very 
often " 

"And  my  name  is  Corentin,"  said  Corentin  in  the  man's 
ear. 

The  commissioner  started  with  surprise. 

"  So  just  make  a  note  of  all  this,"  Corentin  went  on  ;  "it 
will  be  very  useful  by-and-by ;  send  it  up  only  as  confidential 
information.  The  crime  cannot  be  proved,  and  I  know  that 
any  inquiry  would  be  checked  at  the  very  outset.  But  I  will 
catch  the  criminals  some  day  yet.  I  will  watch  them  and 
take  them  red-handed." 

The  police  official  bowed  to  Corentin  and  left. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Katt,  " mademoiselle  does  nothing  but 
dance  and  sing.  What  can  I  do? " 

"  Has  any  change  occurred  then  ?  " 

"  She  has  understood  that  her  father  is  just  dead.' 

"  Put  her  into  a  hackney-coach,  and  simply  take  her  to 
Charenton ;  I  will  write  a  note  to  the  commissioner-general 
of  police  to  secure  her  being  suitably  provided  for.  The 
daughter  in  Charenton,  the  father  in  a  pauper's  grave  !  "  said 
Corentin.  "  Contenson,  go  and  fetch  the  parish  hearse. 
And  now,  Don  Carlos  Herrera,  you  and  I  will  fight  it  out  to 
the  end!" 

"Carlos?"  said  Contenson  ;  "he  is  in  Spain." 

"  He  is  in  Paris,"  said  Corentin  positively.  "There  is  a 
touch  of  Spanish  genius  of  the  Philip  II.  type  in  all  this;  but 
I  have  pitfalls  for  everybody,  even  for  kings." 

Five  days  after  the  nabob's  disappearance,  Madame  du  Val- 


302  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Noble  was  sitting  by  Esther's  bedside  weeping,  for  she  felt 
herself  on  one  of  the  slopes  down  to  poverty. 

"If  only  I  had  at  least  a  hundred  louis  a  year  !  With  that 
sum,  my  dear,  a  woman  can  retire  to  some  little  town  and  find 
a  husband " 

"  I  can  get  you  as  much  as  that,"  said  Esther. 

"How?"  cried  Madame  clu  Val-Noble. 

"  Oh,  in  a  very  simple  way.  Listen.  You  must  want  to 
kill  yourself;  play  your  part  well.  Send  for  Asia  and  offer 
her  ten  thousand  francs  for  two  black  beads  of  very  thin  glass 
containing  a  poison  which  kills  you  in  a  second.  Bring  them 
to  me,  and  I  will  give  you  fifty  thousand  francs  for  them." 

"Why  do  you  not  ask  her  for  them  yourself?"  said  her 
friend. 

"  Asia  would  not  sell  them  to  me." 

"  They  are  not  for  yourself?  "  said  Madame  du  Val-Noble. 

"Perhaps." 

"You  !  who  live  in  the  midst  of  pleasure  and  luxury,  in  a 
house  of  your  own  ?  And  on  the  eve  of  an  entertainment 
which  will  be  the  talk  of  Paris  for  ten  years — which  is  to  cost 
Nucingen  twenty  thousand  francs !  There  are  to  be  straw- 
berries in  mid-February,  they  say ;  asparagus,  grapes,  melons  ! 
And  three  thousand  francs'  worth  of  flowers  in  the  rooms." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?  There  are  three  thousand 
francs'  worth  of  roses  on  the  stairs  alone." 

"And  your  gown  is  said  to  have  cost  ten  thousand  francs?  " 

"Yes,  it  is  of  Brussels  point,  and  Delphine,  his  wife,  is 
furious.  But  I  had  a  fancy  to  be  disguised  as  a  bride." 

"Where  are  the  ten  thousand  francs  for  Asia?"  asked 
Madame  du  Val-Noble. 

"It  is  all  the  ready  money  I  have,"  said  Esther,  smiling. 
"  Open  my  table  drawer;  it  is  under  the  curl-papers." 

"  People  who  talk  of  dying  never  kin  themselves,"  said 
Madame  du  Val-Noble.  "  If  it  were  to  commit " 

"A   crime?      For   shame!"    said   Esther,    finishing    her 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  303 

friend's  thought,  as  she  hesitated.  "  Be  quite  easy,  I  have  no 
intention  of  killing  anybody.  I  had  a  friend — a  very  happy 
woman ;  she  is  dead,  I  must  follow  her — that  is  all." 

"How  foolish!" 

"  How  can  I  help  it  ?     I  promised  her  I  would." 

"I  should  let  that  bill  go  dishonored,"  said  her  friend 
smiling. 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you,  and  go  at  once.  I  hear  a  carriage 
coming.  It  is  Nucingen,  a  man  who  will  go  mad  with  joy  ! 
Yes,  he  loves  me !  Why  do  we  not  love  those  who  love  us, 
for  indeed  they  do  all  they  can  to  please  us?" 

"Ah,  that  is  the  question  !  "  said  Madame  du  Val-Noble. 
"It  is  the  old  story  of  the  herring,  which  is  the  most  puzzling 
fish  that  swims." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  no  one  could  ever  find  out." 

"  Get  along,  my  dear  !  I  must  ask  for  your  fifty  thousand 
francs." 

"Well,  then,  adieu." 

For  three  days  past,  Esther's  ways  with  the  Bavon  de 
Nucingen  had  completely  changed.  The  monkey  had  become  a 
cat,  the  cat  had  become  a  woman.  Esther  poured  out  treasures 
of  affection  on  the  old  man ;  she  was  quite  charming.  Her 
way  of  addressing  him,  with  a  total  absence  of  mischief  or 
bitterness,  and  all  sorts  of  tender  insinuation,  had  carried 
conviction  to  the  banker's  slow  wit ;  she  called  him  Fritz,  and 
he  belived  that  she  loved  him. 

"My  poor  Fritz,  I  have  tried  you  sorely,"  said  she.  "I 
have  teased  you  shamefully.  Your  patience  has  been  sublime. 
You  loved  me,  I  see,  and  I  will  reward  you.  I  like  you  now  ; 
I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  I  should  prefer  you  to  a  young 
man.  It  is  the  result  of  experience  perhaps.  In  the  long 
run  we  discover  at  last  that  pleasure  is  the  coin  of  the  soul ; 
and  it  is  not  more  flattering  to  be  loved  for  the  sake  of 
pleasure  than  it  is  to  be  loved  for  the  sake  of  money. 


304  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"Beside,  young  men  are  too  selfish;  they  think  more  of 
themselves  than  of  us ;  while  you,  now,  think  only  of  me.  I 
am  all  your  life  to  you.  And  I  will  take  nothing  more  from 
you.  I  want  to  prove  to  you  how  disinterested  I  am." 

"Vy,  I  hafe  gifen  you  notink,"  cried  the  baron,  en- 
chanted. "I  propose  to  gife  you  to-morrow  tirty  tousant 
francs  a  year  in  a  Government  bond.  Dat  is  mein  vedding 
gift." 

Esther  kissed  the  baron  so  sweetly  that  he  turned  pale 
without  any  pills. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  she,  "  do  not  suppose  that  I  am  sweet  to  you 
only  for  your  thirty  thousand  francs  !  It  is  because — now — 
I  love  you,  my  good,  fat  Frederic." 

"  Ach,  mein  Gott !  Vy  hafe  you  kept  me  vaiting?  I 
might  hafe  been  so  happy  all  des  tree  monts." 

"In  three  or  in  five  per  cents.,  my  pet?"  said  Esther, 
passing  her  fingers  through  Nucingen's  hair,  and  arranging  it 
in  a  fashion  of  her  own. 

"  In  trees — I  hat  a  quantity." 

So  next  morning  the  baron  brought  the  certificate  of  shares ; 
he  came  to  breakfast  with  his  dear  little  girl,  and  to  take  her 
orders  for  the  following  evening,  the  famous  Saturday,  the 
great  day  ! 

"  Here,  my  little  vife,  my  only  vife,"  said  the  banker  glee- 
fully, his  face  radiant  with  happiness.  "  Here  is  enough 
money  to  pay  for  your  keep  for  de  rest  of  your  days." 

Esther  took  the  paper  without  the  slightest  emotion,  folded 
it  up,  and  put  it  in  her  dressing-table  drawer. 

"  So  now  you  are  quite  happy,  you  monster  of  iniquity  !  " 
said  she,  giving  Nucingen  a  little  slap  on  the  cheek,  "now 
that  I  have  at  last  accepted  a  present  from  you.  I  can  no 
longer  tell  you  home-truths,  for  I  share  the  fruit  of  what  you 
call  your  labors.  This  is  not  a  gift,  my  poor  old  boy,  it  is 
restitution.  Come,  do  not  put  on  your  Bourse  face.  You 
know  that  I  love  you." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  305 

"My  lofely  Esther,  mein  anchel  of  lofe,"  said  the  banker, 
"do  not  speak  to  me  like  dat.  I  tell  you,  I  should  not  care 
ven  all  de  vorld  took  me  for  a  tief,  if  you  should  tink  me  ein 
honest  man.  I  lofe  you  every  day  more  and  more. ' ' 

"  That  is  my  intention,"  said  Esther.  "  And  I  will  never 
again  say  anything  to  distress  you,  my  pet  elephant,  for  you 
are  grown  as  artless  as  a  baby.  Bless  me,  you  old  rascal,  you 
have  never  known  any  innocence ;  the  allowance  bestowed  on 
you  when  you  came  into  the  world  was  bound  to  come  to  the 
top  some  day ;  but  it  was  buried  so  deep  that  it  is  only  now 
reappearing  at  the  age  of  sixty-six.  Fished  up  by  love's 
barbed  hook. 

"This  phenomenon  is  often  seen  in  old  men. 

"And  this  is  why  I  have  learnt  to  love  you,  you  are  young 
— so  very  young !  No  one  but  I  would  ever  have  known  this, 
Frederic — I  alone.  For  you  were  a  banker  at  fifteen ;  even 
at  college  you  must  have  lent  your  school-fellows  one  marble 
on  condition  of  their  returning  two." 

Seeing  him  laugh,  she  sprang  on  to  his  knee. 

"  Well,  you  must  do  as  you  please  !  Bless  me  !  plunder  the 
men — go  ahead,  and  I  will  help.  Men  are  not  worth  loving; 
Napoleon  killed  them  off  like  flies.  Whether  they  pay  taxes 
to  you  or  to  the  Government,  what  difference  does  it  make  to 
them?  You  don't  make  love  over  the  budget,  and  on  my 
honor  ! — go  ahead,  I  have  thought  it  over,  and  you  are  right. 
Shear  the  sheep !  you  will  find  it  in  the  gospel  according  to 
Beranger. 

"  Now,  kiss  your  Esther.  Ah  !  now  promise  that  you  will 
give  poor  Val-Noble  all  the  furniture  in  the  Rue  Taitbout  ? 
And  to-morrow  I  wish  you  would  give  her  fifty  thousand 
francs — it  would  look  handsome,  my  cat.  You  see,  you  killed 
Falleix;  people  are  beginning  to  cry  out  upon  you,  and  this 
liberality  will  look  Babylonian — all  the  women  will  talk  about 
it.  Oh  !  there  will  be  no  one  in  Paris  so  grand,  so  noble  as 
you;  and  as  the  world  is  constituted,  Falleix  will  be  for- 
20 


306  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

gotten.     So,    after   all,  it  will   be   money  deposited   at   in- 
terest." 

"You  are  right,  mein  anchel;  you  know  the  vorld,"  he 
replied.  "  You  shall  be  mein  adfiser. " 

"Well,  you  see/'  said  Esther,  "  how  I  study  my  man's  in- 
terest, his  position  and  honor.  Go  at  once  and  bring  those 
fifty  thousand  francs." 

She  wanted  to  get  rid  of  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  so  as  to  get 
a  stock-broker  to  sell  the  bond  that  very  afternoon. 

"But  vy  dis  minute?  "  asked  he. 

"Oh,  you  silly,  don't  you  know  you  must  give  it  her  in  a 
little  satin  box  wrapped  round  a  fan.  You  must  say  :  '  Here, 
madame,  is  a  fan  which  I  hope  may  be  to  your  taste.'  You 
are  supposed  to  be  a  Turcaret,  and  you  will  become  a  Beau- 
Jon." 

"  Charming,  charming  !  "  cried  the  baron.  "  I  shall  be  so 
clever  henceforth.  Yes,  I  shall  repeat  your  vorts." 

Just  as  poor  Esther  had  flung  herself  down,  tired  with  the 
effort  of  playing  her  part,  Europe  came  in. 

"Madame,"  said  she,  "here  is  a  messenger  sent  from  the 
Quai  Malaquais  by  Celestin,  Monsieur  Lucien's  servant " 

"Bring  him  in — no,  I  will  go  into  the  anteroom." 

"  He  has  a  letter  for  you,  madame,  from  Celestin." 

Esther  rushed  into  the  anteroom,  looked  at  the  messenger, 
and  saw  that  he  looked  like  the  genuine  thing. 

"  Tell  him  to  come  down,"  said  Esther,  in  a  feeble  voice, 
and  dropping  into  a  chair  after  reading  the  letter.  "  Lucien 
means  to  kill  himself,"  she  added  in  a  whisper  to  Europe. 
"No,  take  the  letter  up  to  him." 

Carlos  Herrera,  still  in  his  disguise  as  a  drummer,  came 
downstairs  at  once,  and  keenly  scrutinized  the  messenger  on 
seeing  a  stranger  in  the  anteroom. 

"You  said  there  was  no  one  here,"  said  he  in  a  whisper  to 
Europe. 

And  with  an  excess  of  prudence,  after  looking  at  the  mes- 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  307 

senger,  he  went  straight  into  the  drawing-room.  Trompe-la- 
Mort  did  not  know  that  for  some  time  past  the  famous  con- 
stable of  the  detective  force  who  had  arrested  him  at  the 
Maison  Vauquer  (see  "Father  Goriot")  had  a  rival,  who,  it 
was  supposed,  would  replace  him.  This  rival  was  the  mes- 
senger. 

"  They  are  right,"  said  the  sham  messenger  to  Corentin, 
who  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  street.  "  The  man  you  de- 
scribe is  in  the  house ;  but  he  is  not  a  Spaniard,  and  I  will 
burn  my  hand  off  if  there  is  not  a  bird  for  our  net  under  that 
priest's  cassock.  He  is  no  more  a  priest  than  he  is  a 
Spaniard." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  the  detective. 

"  Oh,  if  only  we  could  prove  it !  "  said  Contenson. 

Lucien  had  been  away  for  two  days,  and  advantage  had 
been  taken  of  his  absence  to  lay  this  snare,  but  he  returned 
that  evening,  and  the  courtesan's  anxieties  were  allayed. 
Next  morning,  at  the  hour  when  Esther,  having  taken  a  bath, 
was  getting  into  bed  again,  Madame  du  Val-Noble  arrived. 

"  Here  are  your  two  pearls  !  "  said  her  friend. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Esther,  raising  herself  with  her  pretty 
elbow  buried  in  a  pillow  trimmed  with  lace. 

Madame  du  Val-Noble  held  out  to  her  what  looked  like  two 
black  currants. 

The  baron  had  given  Esther  a  pair  of  greyhounds  of  famous 
pedigree,  which  will  be  always  known  by  the  name  of  the 
great  contemporary  poet  who  made  them  fashionable ;  and 
Esther,  proud  of  owning  them,  had  called  them  by  the  name 
of  their  parents,  Romeo  and  Juliet.  No  need  here  to  de- 
scribe the  whiteness  and  grace  of  these  beasts,  trained  for  the 
drawing-room,  with  manners  suggestive  of  English  propriety. 
Esther  called  Romeo ;  Romeo  ran  up  on  legs  so  supple  and 
thin,  so  strong  and  sinewy,  that  they  seemed  like  steel  springs, 
and  looked  up  at  his  mistress.  Esther,  to  attract  his  attention, 
pretended  to  throw  one  of  the  pills. 


308  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

11  He  is  doomed  by  his  name  to  die  thus,"  she  said,  as  she 
threw  the  pill,  which  Romeo  crushed  between  his  teeth. 

The  dog  made  no  sound ;  he  rolled  over,  and  was  stark 
dead.  It  was  all  over  while  Esther  spoke  these  words  of 
epitaph. 

"Oh,  heavens !  "  shrieked  Madame  du  Val-Noble. 

"You  have  a  carriage  waiting.  Carry  away  the  departed 
Romeo,"  said  Esther.  "  His  death  would  make  a  commotion 
here.  Make  haste !  I  have  given  him  to  you,  and  you  have 
lost  him — advertise  for  him.  You  will  have  your  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  this  evening." 

She  spoke  so  calmly,  so  entirely  with  the  cold  indifference 
of  a  courtesan,  that  Madame  du  Val-Noble  exclaimed- 

"  You  are  the  Queen  of  us  all !  " 

"  Come  early,  and  look  very  well " 

At  five  o'clock  Esther  dressed  herself  as  a  bride.  She  put 
on  her  lace  dress  over  white  satin,  she  had  a  white  sash,  white 
satin  shoes,  and  a  scarf  of  English  point-lace  over  her  beau- 
tiful shoulders.  In  her  hair  she  placed  natural  white  camellia 
flowers,  the  simple  ornament  of  an  innocent  girl.  On  her 
bosom  lay  a  pearl  necklace  worth  thirty  thousand  francs,  a 
gift  from  Nucingen. 

Though  she  was  dressed  by  six,  she  refused  to  see  anybody, 
even  the  banker.  Europe  knew  that  Lucien  was  to  be  admitted 
to  her  room.  Lucien  came  at  about  seven,  and  Europe  man- 
aged to  get  him  up  to  her  mistress  without  anybody  knowing 
of  his  arrival. 

Lucien,  as  he  looked  at  her,  said  to  himself,  "Why  not  go 
and  live  with  her  at  Rubempre,  far  from  the  world,  and  never 
see  Paris  again?  I  have  an  earnest  of  five  years  of  her  life, 
and  the  dear  creature  is  one  of  those  who  never  belie  them- 
selves !  Where  can  I  find  such  another  perfect  masterpiece  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  you  whom  I  have  made  my.  deity,"  said  Esther, 
kneeling  down  on  a  cushion  in  front  of  Lucien,  "give  me 
your  blessing." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  309 

Lucien  tried  to  raise  her  and  kiss  her,  saying,  "What  is 
this  jest,  my  dear  love?"  And  he  would  have  put  his  arm 
round  her,  but  she  freed  herself  with  a  gesture  as  much  of 
respect  as  of  horror. 

"I  am  no  longer  worthy  of  you,  Lucien,"  said  she,  letting 
the  tears  rise  to  her  eyes.  "I  implore  you,  bless  me,  and 
swear  to  me  that  you  will  found  two  beds  at  the  Hotel-Dieu — 
for,  as  to  masses  in  church,  God  will  never  forgive  me  unless 
I  pray  myself. 

"  I  have  loved  you  too  well,  my  dear.  Tell  me  that  I  made 
you  happy j  and  that  you  will  sometimes  think  of  me.  Tell 
me  that!" 

Lucien  saw  that  Esther  was  solemnly  in  earnest,  and  he  sat 
thinking. 

"You  mean  to  kill  yourself,"  said  he  at  last,  in  a  tone  of 
voice  that  revealed  deep  reflection. 

"No,  my  dear.  But  to-day,  you  see,  the  woman  dies,  the 
pure,  chaste,  and  loving  woman  who  once  was  yours.  And  I 
am  very  much  afraid  that  I  shall  die  of  grief." 

"Poor  child,"  said  Lucien,  "wait!  I  have  worked  hard 
these  two  days.  I  have  succeeded  in  seeing  Clotilde " 

"Always  Clotilde!"  cried  Esther,  in  a  tone  of  concen- 
trated rage. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "we  have  written  to  each  other.  On 
Tuesday  morning  she  is  to  set  out  for  Italy,  but  I  shall  meet 
her  on  the  road  for  an  interview  at  Fontainebleau. " 

"Bless  me!  what  is  it  that  you  men  want  for  wives? 
Wooden  laths?"  cried  poor  Esther.  "If  I  had  four  or  five 
millions,  would  you  not  marry  me — come  now?  " 

"  Child !  I  was  going  to  say  that  if  all  is  over  for  me,  I 
will  have  no  wife  but  you." 

Esther  bent  her  head  to  hide  her  sudden  pallor  and  the 
tears  she  wiped  away. 

"You  love  me?"  said  she,  looking  at  Lucien  with  the 
deepest  melancholy.  "Well,  that  is  my  sufficient  benedic- 


310  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

tion.  Do  not  compromise  yourself.  Go  away  by  the  side- 
door,  and  come  into  the  drawing-room  through  the  anteroom. 
Kiss  me  on  the  forehead." 

She  threw  her  arms  round  Lucien,  clasped  him  to  her  heart 
with  frenzy,  and  said  again — 

"  Go,  only  go-^-or  I  must  live." 

When  the  doomed  woman  appeared  in  the  drawing-room, 
there  was  a  cry  of  admiration.  Esther's  eyes  expressed  infini- 
tude in  which  the  soul  sank  as  it  looked  into  them.  The 
blue-black  of  her  beautiful  hair  set  off  the  camellias.  In 
short,  this  exquisite  creature  achieved  all  the  effects  she  had 
intended.  She  had  no  rival.  She  looked  like  the  supreme 
expression  of  that  unbridled  luxury  which  surrounded  her  in 
every  form.  Then  she  was  brilliantly  witty.  She  ruled  the 
orgy  with  the  cold,  calm  power  that  Habeneck  displays  when 
conducting  at  the  Conservatoire,  at  those  concerts  where  the 
first  musicians  in  Europe  rise  to  the  sublime  in  interpreting 
Mozart  and  Beethoven. 

But  she  observed  with  terror  that  Nucingen  ate  little,  drank 
nothing,  and  was  quite  the  master  of  the  house. 

By  midnight  all  the  company  was  crazy.  The  glasses  were 
broken  that  they  might  never  be  used  again ;  two  of  the 
Chinese  curtains  were  torn ;  Bixiou  was  drunk,  for  the  second 
time  in  his  life.  No  one  could  keep  his  feet,  the  women  were 
asleep  on  the  sofas,  and  the  guests  were  incapable  of  carrying 
out  the  practical  joke  they  had  planned  of  escorting  Esther 
and  Nucingen  to  the  bedroom,  standing  in  two  lines  with 
candles  in  their  hands,  and  singing  Buona  sera  from  the 
"Barber  of  Seville." 

Nucingen  simply  gave  Esther  his  hand.  Bixiou,  who  saw 
them,  though  tipsy,  was  still  able  to  say,  like  Rivarol,  on 
the  occasion  of  the  Due  de  Richelieu's  last  marriage:  "The 
police  must  be  warned ;  there  is  mischief  brewing  here." 

The  jester  thought  he  was  jesting ;  he  was  a  prophet. 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  311 

Monsieur  de  Nucingen  did  not  go  home  till  Monday  at 
about  noon.  But  at  one  o'clock  his  broker  informed  him 
that  Mademoiselle  Esther  van  Bogseck  had  sold  the  bond 
bearing  thirty  thousand  francs  interest  on  Friday  last,  and 
had  just  received  the  money. 

"But,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  Derville's  head-clerk  called  on 
me  just  as  I  was  settling  this  transfer ;  and  after  seeing  Made- 
moiselle Esther's  real  names,  he  told  me  she  had  come  into  a 
fortune  of  seven  millions." 

"Pooh!" 

"Yes;  she  is  the  only  heir  to  the  old  bill-discounter  Gob- 
seek.  Derville  will  verify  the  facts.  If  your  mistress'  mother 
was  the  handsome  Dutchwoman,  la  Belle  Hollandaise,  as  they 
called  her,  she  comes  in  for " 

"  I  know  dat  she  is,"  cried  the  banker.  "  She  tolt  me  all 
her  life.  I  shall  write  ein  vort  to  Derville." 

The  baron  sat  down  at  his  desk,  wrote  a  line  to  Derville, 
and  sent  it  by  one  of  his  servants.  Then,  after  going  to  the 
Bourse,  he  went  back  to  Esther's  house  at  about  three  o'clock. 

"  Madame  forbade  our  waking  her  on  any  pretense  what- 
ever. She  is  in  bed — asleep " 

"Ach  der  teufel !  "  said  the  baron.  "But,  Europe,  she 
shall  not  be  angry  to  be  tolt  that  she  is  fery,  fery  rich.  She 
shall  inherit  seven  millions.  Old  Gobseck  is  deat,  and  your 
mis'ess  is  his  sole  heir,  for  her  moter  vas  Gobseck's  own 
niece ;  and,  beside,  he  shall  hafe  left  a  vill.  I  could  never 
hafe  tought  that  a  millionaire  like  dat  man  should  hafe  left 
Esther  in  misery  !  " 

"Ah,  ha!  Then  your  reign  is  over,  old  mountebank  !  " 
said  Europe,  looking  at  the  baron  with  an  effrontery  worthy 
of  one  of  Moliere's  waiting-maids.  "  Shooh  !  you  old  Alsa- 
tian crow  !  She  loves  you  as  we  love  the  plague  !  Heavens 
above  us  !  Millions  !  Why,  she  may  marry  her  lover ;  won't 
she  be  glad  !  " 

And    Prudence   Servien   left   the    baron   simply   thunder- 


312  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

stricken,  to  be  the  first  to  announce  to  her  mistress  this  great 
stroke  of  luck.  The  old  man,  intoxicated  with  superhuman 
enjoyment,  and  believing  himself  happy,  had  just  received  a 
cold  shower-bath  on  his  passion  at  the  moment  when  it  had 
risen  to  the  intensest  white  heat. 

"  She  vas  deceiving  me !  "  cried  he,  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 
"Yes,  she  vas  cheating  me.  Oh,  Esther,  my  life!  Vat  a 
fool  hafe  I  been !  Can  such  flowers  ever  bloom  for  de  old 
men  !  I  can  buy  all  vat  I  vill  except  only  yout !  Ach  Gott, 
ach  Gott !  Vat  shall  I  do  ?  Vat  shall  become  of  me  ?  She 
is  right,  dat  cruel  Europe.  Esther,  if  she  is  rich,  shall  not 
be  for  me.  Shall  I  go  hank  myself?  Vat  is  life  midout  de 
divine  flame  of  lofe  dat  I  have  known?  Mein  Gott,  mein 
Gott!" 

The  old  man  snatched  off  the  false  hair  he  had  combed  in 
with  his  gray  hairs  these  three  months  past. 

A  piercing  shriek  from  Europe  made  Nucingen  quail  to  his 
very  marrow.  The  poor  banker  rose  and  walked  upstairs  on 
legs  that  were  drunk  with  the  bowl  of  disenchantment  he  had 
just  swallowed  to  the  dregs,  for  nothing  is  more  intoxicating 
than  the  wine  of  disaster. 

At  the  door  of  her  room  he  could  see  Esther  stiff  on  her 
bed,  livid  from  poison — dead  ! 

He  went  up  to  the  bed  and  dropped  on  his  knees. 

"You  are  right!  She  toll  me  so!  She  is  dead — of  me, 
dead " 

Paccard,  Asia,  every  one  hurried  in.  It  was  a  spectacle,  a 
shock,  but  not  despair.  Every  one  had  their  doubts.  The 
baron  was  a  banker  again.  A  suspicion  crossed  his  mind,  and 
he  was  so  imprudent  as  to  ask  what  had  become  of  the  seven 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,  the  price  of  the  bond. 
Paccard,  Asia,  and  Europe  looked  at  each  other  so  strangely 
that  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  left  the  house  at  once,  believing 
that  robbery  and  murder  had  been  committed.  Europe, 
detecting  a  packet  of  a  soft  consistency,  betraying  the  con- 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  313 

tents  to  be  bank-notes,  under  her  mistress'  pillow,  proceeded 
at  once  to  "  lay  her  out,"  as  she  said. 

"  Go  and  tell  Monsieur  Carlos,  Asia !  Oh,  to  die  before 
she  knew  that  she  had  seven  millions !  Gobseck  was  poor 
madame's  uncle  !  "  said  she. 

Europe's  stratagem  was  understood  by  Paccard.  As  soon 
as  Asia's  back  was  turned,  Europe  opened  the  packet,  on 
which  the  hapless  courtesan  had  written  :  "To  be  delivered 
to  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre." 

Seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  in  bank-bills  shone 
in  the  eyes  of  Prudence  Servien,  who  exclaimed — 

"Won't  we  be  happy  and  honest  for  the  rest  of  our  lives  !  " 

Paccard  made  no  objection.  His  instincts  as  a  thief  were 
stronger  than  his  attachment  to  Trompe-la-Mort. 

"Durut  is  dead,"  he  said  at  length;  "my  shoulder  is  still 
a  proof  before  letters.  Let  us  be  off  together ;  divide  the 
money,  so  as  not  to  have  all  our  eggs  in  one  basket,  and  then 
get  married." 

"But  where  can  we  hide?"  said  Prudence. 

"In  Paris,"  replied  Paccard. 

Prudence  and  Paccard  went  off  at  once,  with  the  prompti- 
tude of  two  honest  people  transformed  into  robbers. 

"My  child,"  said  Carlos  to  Asia,  as  soon  as  she  had  said 
three  words,  "find  some  letter  of  Esther's  while  I  write  a 
formal  will,  and  then  take  the  copy  and  the  letter  to  Girard  ; 
but  he  must  be  quick.  The  will  must  be  under  Esther's  pillow 
before  the  lawyers  affix  the  seals  here." 

And  he  wrote  out  the  following  will : 

"  Never  having  loved  any  one  on  earth  but  Monsieur  Lucien 
Chardon  de  Rubempre,  and  being  resolved  to  end  my  life 
rather  than  relapse  into  vice  and  the  life  of  infamy  from  which 
he  rescued  me,  I  give  and  bequeath  to  the  said  Lucien  Char- 
don de  Rubempre  all  I  may  possess  at  the  time  of  my  decease, 


814  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

on  condition  of  his  founding  a  mass  in  perpetuity  in  the  parish 
church  of  Saint-Roch  for  the  repose  of  her  who  gave  him  her 
all,  even  her  last  thought.  ESTHER  GOBSECK." 

"That  is  quite  in  her  style,"  thought  Trompe-la-Mort. 

By  seven  in  the  evening  this  document,  written  and  sealed, 
was  placed  by  Asia  under  Esther's  bolster. 

"Jacques,"  said  she,  flying  upstairs  again,  "just  as  I  came 
out  of  the  room  justice  marched  in " 

"  The  justice  of  the  peace  you  mean  ?  " 

"  No,  my  son.  The  justice  of  the  peace  was  there,  but  he 
had  gendarmes  with  him.  The  public  prosecutor  and  the 
examining  judge  are  there  too,  and  the  doors,  back  and  front, 
are  guarded." 

"  This  death  has  made  a  sudden  rumpus,"  remarked  Jacques 
Collin. 

"Ay,  and  Paccard  and  Europe  have  vanished ;  I  am  afraid 
they  may  have  scared  away  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs,"  said  Asia. 

"  The  low  villains  !  "  said  Collin.  "  They  have  done  for 
us  by  their  swindling  game." 

Human  justice,  and  Paris  justice,  that  is  to  say,  the  most 
suspicious,  keenest,  cleverest,  and  omniscient  type  of  justice — 
too  clever,  indeed,  for  it  insists  on  interpreting  the  law  at 
every  turn — was  at  last  on  the  point  of  laying  its  hand  on  the 
agents  of  this  horrible  intrigue. 

The  Baron  de  Nucingen,  on  recognizing  the  evidence  of 
poison,  and  failing  to  find  his  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs,  imagined  that  one  of  two  persons  whom  he 
greatly  disliked — either  Paccard  or  Europe — was  guilty  of  the 
crime.  In  his  first  impulse  of  rage  he  flew  to  the  prefecture 
of  police.  This  was  a  stroke  of  a  bell  that  called  up  all 
Corentin's  men.  The  officials  of  the  prefecture,  the  legal 
profession,  the  chief  of  the  police,  the  justice  of  the  peace, 
the  examining  judge — all  were  astir.  By  nine  in  the  evening 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  315 

three  medical  men  were  called  in  to  perform  an  autopsy  on 
poor  Esther,  and  inquiries  were  set  on  foot. 

Trompe-la-Mort,  warned  by  Asia,  exclaimed — 

"  No  one  knows  that  I  am  here;  I  may  take  an  airing." 
He  pulled  himself  up  by  the  skylight  of  his  garret,  and  with  mar- 
velous agility  was  standing  in  an  instant  on  the  roof,  whence 
he  surveyed  the  surroundings  with  the  coolness  of  a  slater. 

"Good  !  "  said  he,  discerning  a  garden  five  houses  off  in 
the  Rue  de  Provence,  "  that  will  just  do  for  me." 

"You  are  paid  out,  Trompe-la-Mort,"  said  Contenson,  sud- 
denly emerging  from  behind  a  stack  of  chimneys.  "You 
may  explain  to  Monsieur  Camusot  what  mass  you  were  per- 
forming on  the  roof,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  and,  above  all,  why 
you  were  escaping " 

"  I  have  enemies  in  Spain,"  said  Carlos  Herrera. 

"We  can  go  there  by  way  of  your  attic,"  said  Contenson. 

The  sham  Spaniard  pretended  to  yield  ;  but,  having  set  his 
back  and  feet  across  the  opening  of  the  skylight,  he  gripped 
Contenson  and  flung  him  off  with  such  violence  that  the  spy 
fell  in  the  gutter  of  the  Rue  Saint-Georges. 

Contenson  was  dead  on  his  field  of  honor ;  Jacques  Collin 
quietly  dropped  into  the  room  again  and  went  to  bed. 

"  Give  me  something  that  will  make  me  very  sick  without 
killing  me,"  said  he  to  Asia ;  "  for  I  must  be  at  death's  door, 
to  avoid  answering  inquisitive  persons.  Do  not  be  alarmed — 
I  am  a  priest,  and  shall  still  be  a  priest.  I  have  just  got  rid 
of  a  man  in  the  most  natural  way,  for  he  slipped  off  the  roof, 
who  might  have  unmasked  me." 

At  seven  o'clock  on  the  previous  evening  Lucien  had  set 
out  in  his  own  chaise  to  post  to  Fontainebleau  with  a  pass- 
port he  had  procured  in  the  morning;  he  slept  in  the  nearest 
inn  on  the  Nemours  side.  At  six  in  the  morning  he  went 
alone,  and  on  foot,  through  the  forest  as  far  as  Bouron. 

"This,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  sat  down  on  one  of  the 


316  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

rocks  that  command  the  fine  landscape  of  Bouron,  "  is  the 
fatal  spot  where  Napoleon  dreamed  of  making  a  final  tre- 
mendous effort  on  the  eve  of  his  abdication." 

At  daybreak  he  heard  the  approach  of  post-horses,  and  saw 
a  britska  drive  past  in  which  sat  the  servants  of  the  Duchesse 
de  Lenoncourt-Chaulieu  and  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu's  maid. 

"  Here  they  are  !  "  thought  Lucien.  "  Now,  to  play  the 
farce  well,  and  I  shall  be  saved  !  The  Due  de  Grandlieu's 
son-in-law  in  spite  of  him  !  " 

It  was  an  hour  later  when  he  heard  the  peculiar  sound  made 
by  a  superior  traveling  carriage,  as  the  berline  came  near  in 
which  the  two  ladies  were  sitting.  They  had  given  orders 
that  the  drag  should  be  put  on  for  the  hill  down  to  Bouron, 
and  the  manservant  behind  the  carriage  had  it  stopped. 

At  this  instant  Lucien  came  forward. 
'  Clotilde  !  "  said  he,  tapping  on  the  window. 

"  No,"  said  the  young  duchess  to  her  friend,  "  he  shall  not 
get  into  the  carriage,  and  we  will  not  be  alone  with  him,  my 
dear.  Speak  to  him  for  the  last  time — to  that  I  consent ;  but 
on  the  road,  where  we  will  walk  on,  and  where  Baptiste  can 
escort  us.  The  morning  is  fine,  we  are  well  wrapped  up,  and 
have  no  fear  of  the  cold.  The  carriage  can  follow  us." 

The  two  women  got  out. 

"Baptiste,"  said  the  duchess,  "the  post-boy  can  follow 
slowly  ;  we  want  to  walk  a  little  way.  You  keep  near  us." 

Madeleine  de  Mortsauf  took  Clotilde  by  the  arm  and  allowed 
Lucien  to  talk.  They  thus  walked  on  as  far  as  the  village  of 
Grez.  It  was  now  eight  o'clock,  and  there  Clotilde  dismissed 
Lucien. 

"Well,  my  friend,"  said  she,  closing  this  long  interview 
with  much  dignity,  "  I  never  shall  marry  any  one  but  you.  I 
would  rather  believe  in  you  than  in  other  men,  in  my  father 
and  mother — no  woman  ever  gave  greater  proof  of  attach- 
ment surely?  Now,  try  to  counteract  the  fatal  prejudices 
which  militate  against  you." 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  317 

Just  then  the  tramp  of  galloping  horses  was  heard,  and,  to 
the  great  amazement  of  the  ladies,  a  force  of  gendarmes  sur- 
rounded the  little  party. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  said  Lucien,  with  the  arrogance  of 
a  dandy. 

"Are  you  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre?"  asked  the 
public  prosecutor  of  Fontainebleau. 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"You  will  spend  to-night  in  La  Force,"  said  he.  "  I  have 
a  warrant  for  the  detention  of  your  person." 

"  Who  are  these  ladies?  "  asked  the  sergeant. 

"To  be  sure.  Excuse  me,  ladies — your  passports?  For 
Monsieur  Lucien,  as  I  am  instructed,  had  acquaintances  among 
the  fair  sex,  who  for  him  would " 

"Do  you  take  the  Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt-Chaulieu  for  a 
prostitute?"  said  Madeleine,  with  a  magnificent  flash  at  the 
public  prosecutor. 

"You  are  handsome  enough  to  excuse  the  error,"  the 
magistrate  very  cleverly  retorted. 

"  Baptiste,  produce  the  passports,"  said  the  young  duchess 
with  a  smile. 

"  And  with  what  crime  is  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  charged?" 
asked  Clotilde,  whom  the  duchess  wished  to  see  safe  in  the 
carriage. 

"  Of  being  accessory  to  a  robbery  and  murder,"  replied  the 
sergeant  of  gendarmes. 

Baptiste  lifted  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu  into  the  chaise 
in  a  dead  faint. 

By  midnight  Lucien  was  entering  La  Force,  a  prison  sit- 
uated between  the  Rue  Payenne  and  the  Rue  des  Ballets, 
where  he  was  placed  in  solitary  confinement. 

The  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera  was  also  there,  having  been 
arrested  that  evening. 


THE   END   OF  EVIL  WAYS. 

At  six  o'clock  next  morning  two  vehicles  with  postillions, 
prison  vans,  called  in  the  vigorous  language  of  the  populace 
paniers  a  salade,  or  salad-baskets,  came  out  of  La  Force  to 
drive  to  the  Conciergerie,  the  prison  of  the  Palais  de  Justice. 

Few  loungers  in  Paris  can  have  failed  to  meet  this  prison 
cell  on  wheels ;  still,  though  most  stories  are  written  for 
Parisian  readers,  strangers  will  no  doubt  be  satisfied  to  have  a 
description  of  this  formidable  machine.  Who  knows?  The 
police  of  Russia,  Germany,  or  Austria,  the  legal  body  of 
countries  to  whom  the  salad-basket  is  an  unknown  machine, 
may  profit  by  it ;  and  in  several  foreign  countries  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  an  imitation  of  this  vehicle  would  be  a  boon 
to  prisoners. 

This  ignominious  conveyance,  yellow-bodied,  on  high 
wheels,  and  lined  with  sheet-iron,  is  divided  into  two  compart- 
ments. In  front  is  a  box-seat,  with  leather  cushions  and  an 
apron.  This  is  the  free  seat  of  the  van,  and  accommodates  a 
sheriffs  officer  and  a  gendarme.  A  strong  iron  grating, 
reaching  to  the  top,  separates  this  sort  of  coach-front  from  the 
back  division,  in  which  there  are  two  wooden  seats  placed 
sideways,  as  in  an  omnibus,  on  which  the  prisoners  sit.  They 
get  in  by  a  step  behind,  through  an  iron  door  without  a 
window.  The  nickname  of  salad-basket  arose  from  the  fact 
that  the  vehicle  was  originally  made  entirely  of  lattice  work, 
and  the  prisoners  were  shaken  in  it  just  as  a  lettuce  is  shaken 
to  dry  it. 

For  further  security,  in  case  of  accident,  a  mounted  gen- 
darme follows  the  van,  especially  when  it  conveys  criminals 
condemned  to  death  to  the  place  of  execution.  Thus  escape 
is  impossible.  The  vehicle,  lined  with  sheet-iron,  is  imper- 
vious to  any  tool.  The  prisoners,  carefully  searched  when 
they  are  arrested  or  locked  up,  can  have  nothing  but  watch- 
(318) 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  319 

springs,  perhaps,  to  file  through  bars,  and  useless  on  a  smooth 
surface. 

So  the panicr  a  salade,  improved  by  the  genius  of  the  Paris 
police,  became  the  model  for  the  prison  omnibus  (known  in 
America  as  the  "  Black  Maria")  in  which  convicts  are  trans- 
ported to  the  hulks,  instead  of  the  horrible  tumbril  which 
formerly  disgraced  civilization,  though  Manon  Lescaut  has 
made  it  famous. 

The  accused  are,  in  the  first  instance,  dispatched  in  the 
prison  van  from  the  various  prisons  in  Paris  to  the  Palais  de 
Justice,  to  be  questioned  by  the  examining  judge.  This,  in 
prison  slang,  is  called  "  going  up  for  examination."  Then 
the  accused  are  again  conveyed  from  prison  to  the  court  to 
be  sentenced  when  their  case  is  only  a  misdemeanor ;  or  if,  in 
legal  parlance,  the  case  is  one  for  the  Upper  Court,  they  are 
transferred  from  the  house  of  detention  to  the  Conciergerie, 
the  jail  of  the  Department  of  the  Seine. 

Finally,  the  prison  van  carries  the  criminal  condemned 
to  death  from  Bic&tre  to  the  Barriere  Saint-Jacques,  where 
executions  are  carried  out,  and  have  been  ever  since  the  Revo- 
lution of  July.  Thanks  to  philanthropic  interference,  the 
poor  wretches  no  longer  have  to  face  the  horrors  of  the  drive 
from  the  Conciergerie  to  the  Place  de  Greve  in  a  cart  exactly 
like  that  used  by  wood  merchants.  This  tumbril  is  no  longer 
used  but  to  bring  the  body  back  from  the  scaffold. 

Without  this  explanation  the  words  of  a  famous  convict  to 
his  accomplice :  "  It  is  now  the  horse's  business  !  "  as  he  got 
into  the  van,  would  be  unintelligible.  It  is  impossible  to  be 
carried  to  execution  more  comfortably  than  in  Paris  nowadays. 

At  this  moment  the  two  vans,  setting  out  at  such  an  early 
hour,  were  employed  on  the  unwonted  service  of  conveying 
two  accused  prisoners  from  the  jail  of  La  Force  to  the  Con- 
ciergerie, and  each  man  had  a  salad-basket  to  himself. 

Nine-tenths  of  my  readers,  aye,  and  nine-tenths  of  the 
remaining  tenth,  are  certainly  ignorant  of  the  vast  difference 


320  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

of  meaning  in  the  words  incriminated,  suspected,  accused, 
and  committed  for  trial — jail,  house  of  detention,  and  peni- 
tentiary ;  and  they  may  be  surprised  to  learn  here  that  it  in- 
volves all  our  criminal  procedure,  of  which  a  clear  and  brief 
outline  will  presently  be  sketched,  as  much  for  their  informa- 
tion as  for  the  elucidation  of  this  history.  However,  when  it 
is  said  that  the  first  van  contained  Jacques  Collin  and  the 
second  Lucien,  who  in  a  few  hours  had  fallen  from  the  summit 
of  social  splendor  to  the  depths  of  a  prison  cell,  curiosity  will 
for  the  moment  be  satisfied. 

The  conduct  of  the  two  accomplices  was  characteristic; 
Lucien  de  Rubempre  shrank  back  to  avoid  the  gaze  of  the 
passers-by,  who  looked  at  the  grated  window  of  the  gloomy 
and  fateful  vehicle  on  its  road  along  the  Rue  Saint-Antoine 
and  the  Rue  du  Martroi  to  reach  the  quay  and  the  Arch  of 
Saint-Jean,  the  way,  at  that  time,  across  the  Place  de  1' Hotel 
de  Ville.  This  archway  now  forms  the  entrance  gate  to  the 
residence  of  the  Prefet  de  la  Seine  in  the  huge  municipal 
palace.  The  daring  convict,  on  the  contrary,  stuck  his  face 
against  the  barred  grating,  between  the  officer  and  the  gen- 
darme, who,  sure  of  their  van,  were  chatting  together. 

The  great  days  of  July,  1830,  and  the  tremendous  storm 
that  then  burst,  have  so  completely  wiped  out  the  memory  of 
all  previous  events,  and  politics  so  entirely  absorbed  the 
French  during  the  last  six  months  of  that  year,  that  no  one 
remembers — or  a  few  scarcely  remember — the  various  private, 
judicial,  and  financial  catastrophes,  strange  as  they  were, 
which,  forming  the  annual  food  of  Parisian  curiosity,  were  not 
lacking  during  the  first  six  months  of  the  year.  It  is,  there- 
fore, needful  to  mention  how  Paris  was,  for  the  moment,  ex- 
cited by  the  news  of  the  arrest  of  a  Spanish  priest,  discovered 
in  a  courtesan's  house,  and  that  of  the  elegant  Lucien  de  Ru- 
bempr6,  who  had  been  engaged  to  Mademoiselle  Clotilde  de 
Grandlieu,  taken  on  the  high  road  to  Italy,  close  to  the  little 
village  of  Grez.  Both  were  charged  as  being  concerned  in  a 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  321 

murder,  of  which  the  profits  were  stated  at  seven  millions  of 
francs ;  and  for  some  days  the  scandal  of  this  trial  preponder- 
ated over  the  absorbing  importance  of  the  last  elections  held 
under  Charles  X. 

In  the  first  place,  the  charge  had  been  based  on  an  applica- 
tion by  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  ;  then,  Lucien's  apprehension, 
just  as  he  was  about  to  be  appointed  private  secretary  to  the 
prime  minister,  made  a  stir  in  the  very  highest  circles  of  so- 
ciety. In  every  drawing-room  in  Paris  more  than  one  young 
man  could  recollect  having  envied  Lucien  when  he  was  hon- 
ored by  the  notice  of  the  beautiful  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse ; 
and  every  woman  knew  that  he  was  the  favored  of  Madame  de 
Serizy,  the  wife  of  one  of  the  Government  bigwigs.  And, 
finally,  his  handsome  person  gave  him  a  singular  notoriety  in 
the  various  worlds  that  make  up  Paris — the  world  of  fashion, 
the  financial  world,  the  world  of  courtesans,  the  young  men's 
world,  the  literary  \sprld.  So  for  two  days  past  all  Paris  had 
been  talking  of  these  two  arrests.  The  examining  judge  in 
whose  hands  the  case  was  put  regarded  it  as  a  chance  for  pro- 
motion ;  and,  to  proceed  with  the  utmost  possible  rapidity,  he 
had  given  orders  that  both  the  accused  should  be  transferred 
from  La  Force  to  the  Conciergerie  as  soon  as  Lucien  de  Ru- 
bempre  could  be  brought  from  Fontainebleau. 

As  the  Abbe  Carlos  had  spent  but  twelve  hours  in  La  Force, 
and  Lucien  only  half  a  night,  it  is  useless  to  describe  that 
prison,  which  has  since  been  entirely  remodeled ;  and  as  to 
the  details  of  their  consignment,  it  would  be  only  a  repetition 
of  the  same  story  at  the  Conciergerie. 

But  before  setting  forth  the  terrible  drama  of  a  criminal 
inquiry,  it  is  indispensable,  as  I  have  said,  that  an  account 
should  be  given  of  the  ordinary  proceedings  in  a  case  of  this 
kind.  To  begin  with,  its  various  phases  will  be  better  under- 
stood at  home  and  abroad,  and,  beside,  those  who  are  ignorant 
of  the  action  of  the  criminal  law,  as  conceived  of  by  the 
21 


322  THE    HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

lawgivers  under  Napoleon,  will  appreciate  it  better.  This  is 
all  the  more  important  as,  at  this  moment,  this  great  and 
noble  institution  is  in  danger  of  destruction  by  the  system 
known  as  "penitentiary." 

A  crime  is  committed ;  if  it  is  flagrant,  the  persons  incrimi- 
nated (inculpes)  are  taken  to  the  nearest  lock-up  and  placed 
in  the  cell  known  to  the  vulgar  as  the  Violon — perhaps  because 
they  make  a  noise  there,  shrieking  or  crying.  From  thence 
the  suspected  persons  (inculpes}  are  taken  before  the  police 
commissioner  or  magistrate,  who  holds  a  preliminary  inquiry, 
and  can  dismiss  the  case  if  there  is  any  mistake;  finally,  they  are 
conveyed  to  the  depot,  or  guard-house  of  the  prefecture,  where 
the  police  detains  them  pending  the  convenience  of  the  public 
prosecutor  and  the  examining  judge.  They,  being  served 
with  due  notice,  more  or  less  quickly,  according  to  the  gravity 
of  the  case,  come  and  examine  the  prisoners  who  are  still 
provisionally  detained.  Having  due  regard  to  the  presump- 
tive evidence,  the  examining  judge  then  issues  a  warrant  for 
their  imprisonment,  and  sends  the  suspected  persons  to  be 
confined  in  a  jail.  There  are  three  such  jails  (Maisons 
d'Arrtf)  in  Paris — Sainte-Pelagie,  La  Force,  and  les  Madelon- 
nettes. 

Observe  the  word  inculpe  incriminated,  or  suspected  of 
crime.  The  French  Code  has  created  three  essential  degrees 
of  criminality — inculpe,  first  degree  of  suspicion ;  prevenu, 
under  examination ;  accuse,  fully  committed  for  trial.  So 
long  as  the  warrant  for  committal  remains  unsigned,  the 
supposed  criminal  is  regarded  as  merely  under  suspicion, 
inculpe  of  the  crime  or  felony ;  when  the  warrant  has  been 
issued,  he  becomes  "  the  accused  "  {prevenu},  and  is  regarded 
as  such  so  long  as  the  inquiry  is  proceeding ;  when  the  inquiry 
is  closed,  and  as  soon  as  the  Court  has  decided  that  the 
accused  is  to  be  committed  for  trial,  he  becomes  "  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar"  (accuse)  as  soon  as  the  superior  Court, 
at  the  instance  of  the  public  prosecutor,  has  pronounced  that 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  323 

the  charge  is  so  far  proved  as  to  be  formally  carried  to  the 
next  assizes. 

Thus,  persons  suspected  of  crime  go  through  three  different 
stages,  three  siftings,  before  coming  up  for  trial  before  the 
judges  of  the  upper  Court — the  High  Justice  of  the  realm. 

At  the  first  stage,  innocent  persons  have  abundant  means  of 
exculpating  themselves — the  public,  the  warders,  the  police. 
At  the  second  stage  they  appear  before  a  magistrate  face  to 
face  with  the  witnesses,  and  are  judged  by  a  tribunal  in  Paris, 
or  by  the  collective  Court  in  the  departments.  At  the  third 
stage  they  are  brought  before  a  bench  of  twelve  councilors, 
and  in  case  of  any  error  or  informality  the  prisoner  committed 
for  trial  at  the  assizes  may  appeal  for  protection  to  the  Supreme 
Court.  The  jury  do  not  know  what  a  slap  in  the  face  they 
give  to  popular  authority,  to  administrative  and  judicial  func- 
tionaries, when  they  acquit  a  prisoner.  And  so,  in  my 
opinion,  it  is  hardly  possible  that  an  innocent  man  should 
ever  find  himself  at  the  bar  of  an  Assize  Court  in  Paris — I  say 
nothing  of  other  seats  of  justice. 

The  detenu  is  the  convict.  French  criminal  law  recognizes 
imprisonment  of  three  degrees,  corresponding  in  legal  dis- 
tinction to  these  three  degrees  of  suspicion,  inquiry,  and  con- 
viction. Mere  imprisonment  is  a  light  penalty  for  misde- 
meanor, but  detention  is  imprisonment  with  hard  labor,  a 
severe  and  sometimes  degrading  punishment.  Hence,  those 
persons  who  nowadays  are  in  favor  of  the  penitentiary  system 
would  upset  an  admirable  scheme  of  criminal  law  in  which 
the  penalties  are  judiciously  graduated,  and  they  will  end  by 
punishing  the  lightest  peccadilloes  as  severely  as  the  greatest 
crimes. 

The  reader  may  compare  in  the  Scenes  of  Political  Life 
(for  instance,  in  "A  Historical  Mystery")  the  curious  dif- 
ferences subsisting  between  the  criminal  law  of  Brumaire  in 
the  year  IV.,  and  that  of  the  Code  Napoleon  which  has  taken 
its  place. 


324  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

In  most  great  criminal  trials,  as  in  this  one,  the  suspected 
persons  are  at  once  examined  (and  from  inculpes  become 
prevcnus}  ;  justice  immediately  issues  a  warrant  for  their  arrest 
and  imprisonment.  In  point  of  fact,  in  most  of  such  cases 
the  criminals  have  either  fled,  or  have  been  instantly  appre- 
hended. Indeed,  as  we  have  seen,  the  police,  which  is  but 
an  instrument,  and  the  officers  of  justice  had  descended  on 
Esther's  house  with  the  swiftness  of  a  thunderbolt.  Even  if 
there  had  not  been  the  reasons  for  revenge  suggested  to  the 
superior  police  by  Corentin,  there  was  a  robbery  to  be  inves- 
tigated of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  from  the 
Baron  de  Nucingen. 

Just  as  the  first  prison  van,  conveying  Jacques  Collin, 
reached  the  archway  of  Saint-Jean — a  narrow,  dark  passage, 
some  blocks  ahead  compelled  the  postillion  to  stop  under  the 
vault.  The  prisoner's  eyes  shone  like  carbuncles  through  the 
grating,  in  spite  of  his  aspect  as  of  a  dying  man,  which,  the 
day  before,  had  led  the  governor  of  La  Force  to  believe  that 
the  doctor  must  be  called  in.  These  flaming  eyes,  free  to 
rove  at  this  moment,  for  neither  the  officer  nor  the  gendarme 
looked  round  at  their  "  customer,"  spoke  so  plain  a  language 
that  a  clever  examining  judge,  M.  Popinot,  for  instance,  would 
have  identified  the  man  convicted  for  sacrilege. 

In  fact,  ever  since  the  "salad-basket"  had  turned  out  of 
the  gate  of  La  Force,  Jacques  Collin  had  studied  everything 
on  his  way.  Notwithstanding  the  pace  they  had  made,  he 
took  in  the  houses  with  an  eager  and  comprehensive  glance, 
from  the  street-level  to  the  attics.  He  saw  and  noted  every 
passer-by.  God  Himself  is  not  more  clear-seeing  as  to  the 
means  and  end  of  His  creatures  than  was  this  man  in  observ- 
ing the  slightest  differences  in  the  medley  of  things  and 
people.  Armed  with  hope,  as  the  last  of  the  Horatii  was 
armed  with  his  sword,  he  expected  succor.  To  anybody  but 
this  Machiavelli  of  the  hulks,  this  hope  would  have  seemed  so 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  325 

absolutely  impossible  to  realize  that  he  would  have  gone  on 
mechanically,  as  all  guilty  men  do.  Not  one  of  them  ever 
dreams  of  resistance  when  he  finds  himself  in  the  position  to 
which  justice  and  the  Paris  police  bring  suspected  persons, 
especially  those  who,  like  Collin  and  Lucien,  are  in  solitary 
confinement. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  the  sudden  isolation  in 
which  a  suspected  criminal  is  placed.  The  gendarmes  who 
apprehend  him,  the  commissioner  who  questions  him,  those 
who  take  him  to  prison,  the  warders  who  lead  him  to  his  cell 
— which  is  actually  called  a  cachot,  a  dungeon  or  hiding- 
place,  those  again  who  take  him  by  the  arms  to  put  him  into 
a  prison  van — every  being  that  comes  near  him  from  the 
moment  of  his  arrest  is  either  speechless  or  takes  note  of  all 
he  says,  to  be  repeated  to  the  police  or  to  the  judge.  This 
total  severance,  so  simply  effected  between  the  prisoner  and 
the  world,  gives  rise  to  a  complete  overthrow  of  his  faculties 
and  a  terrible  prostration  of  mind,  especially  when  the  man 
has  not  been  familiarized  by  his  antecedents  with  the  pro- 
cesses of  justice.  The  duel  between  the  judge  and  the  crimi- 
nal is  all  the  more  appalling  because  justice  has  on  its  side 
the  dumbness  of  blank  walls  and  the  incorruptible  coldness 
of  its  agents. 

But  Jacques  Collin,  or  Carlos  Herrera — it  will  be  necessary 
to  speak  of  him  by  one  or  the  other  of  these  names  according 
to  the  circumstances  of  the  case — had  long  been  familiar  with 
the  methods  of  the  police,  of  the  jail,  and  of  law.  This 
colossus  of  cunning  and  corruption  had  employed  all  his 
powers  of  mind,  and  all  the  resources  of  mimicry,  to  affect 
the  surprise  and  anility  of  an  innocent  man,  while  giving  the 
lawyers  the  spectacle  of  his  sufferings.  As  has  been  told, 
Asia,  that  skilled  Locusta,  had  given  him  a  dose  of  poison  so 
qualified  as  to  produce  the  effects  of  a  dreadful  but  not  neces- 
sarily fatal  illness. 

Thus  Monsieur  Camusot,  the  police  commissioner,  and  the 


326  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

public  prosecutor  had  been  baffled  in  their  proceedings  and 
inquiries  by  the  effects  apparently  of  an  apoplectic  attack. 

"  He  has  taken  poison  !  "  cried  Monsieur  Camusot,  horrified 
by  the  sufferings  of  the  self-styled  priest  when  he  had  been 
carried  down  from  the  attic  writhing  in  convulsions. 

Four  officers  had  with  great  difficulty  brought  the  Abbe 
Carlos  downstairs  to  Esther's  room,  where  the  lawyers  and 
the  gendarmes  were  assembled. 

"That  was  the  best  thing  he  could  do  if  he  should  be 
guilty,"  replied  the  public  prosecutor. 

"  Do  you  believe  that  he  is  ill  ?"  the  police  commissioner 
asked. 

The  police  is  always  incredulous. 

The  three  lawyers  had  spoken,  as  may  be  imagined,  in  a 
whisper ;  but  Jacques  Collin  had  guessed  from  their  faces  the 
subject  under  discussion,  and  had  taken  advantage  of  it  to 
make  the  first  brief  examination  which  is  gone  through  on 
arrest  absolutely  impossible  and  useless;  he  had  stammered 
out  sentences  in  which  Spanish  and  French  were  so  mingled 
as  to  make  nonsense. 

At  La  Force  this  farce  had  been  all  the  more  successful  in 
the  first  instance  because  the  head  of  the  "safety"  force — an 
abbreviation  of  the  title  "  Head  of  the  brigade  of  the  guardians 
of  public  safety" — Bibi-Lupin,  who  had  long  since  taken 
Jacques  Collin  into  custody  at  Madame  Vauquer's  boarding- 
house,  had  been  sent  on  special  business  into  the  country,  and 
his  deputy  was  a  man  who  hoped  to  succeed  him,  but  to 
whom  the  convict  was  unknown. 

Bibi-Lupin,  himself  formerly  a  convict,  and  a  comrade  of 
Jacques  Collin's  on  the  hulks,  was  his  personal  enemy.  This 
hostility  had  its  rise  in  quarrels  in  which  Jacques  Collin  had 
always  got  the  upper  hand,  and  in  the  supremacy  over  his 
fellow-prisoners  which  Trompe-la-Mort  had,  always  assumed. 
And  then,  for  ten  years  now,  Jacques  Collin  had  been  the 
ruling  providence  of  released  convicts  in  Paris,  their  head, 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  327 

their  adviser,  and  their  banker,  and  consequently  Bibi-Lupin's 
antagonist. 

Thus,  though  placed  au  secret  (in  solitary  confinement),  he 
trusted  to  the  intelligent  and  unreserved  devotion  of  Asia,  his 
right  hand,  and  perhaps,  too,  to  Paccard,  his  left  hand,  who, 
as  he  flattered  himself,  might  return  to  his  allegiance  when 
once  that  thrifty  subaltern  had  safely  bestowed  the  seven  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  francs  that  he  had  stolen.  This  was 
the  reason  why  his  attention  had  been  so  superhumanly  alert 
all  along  the  road.  And,  strange  to  say !  his  hopes  were 
about  to  be  amply  fulfilled. 

The  two  solid  side-walls  of  the  archway  were  covered,  to  a 
height  of  six  feet,  with  a  permanent  dado  of  mud  formed  of 
the  splashes  from  the  gutter ;  for,  in  those  days,  the  foot-pas- 
senger had  no  protection  from  the  constant  traffic  of  vehicles 
and  from  what  was  called  the  kicking  of  the  carts,  but  curb- 
stones placed  upright  at  intervals,  and  much  ground  away  by 
the  naves  of  the  wheels.  More  than  once  a  heavy  truck  had 
crushed  a  heedless  foot-passenger  under  that  archway.  Such 
indeed  Paris  remained  in  many  districts  and  till  long  after. 
This  circumstance  may  give  some  idea  of  the  narrowness  of  the 
Saint- Jean  arcade  and  the  ease  with  which  it  could  be  blocked. 
If  a  carriage  should  be  coming  through  from  the  Place  de 
Greve  while  a  costermonger-woman  was  pushing  her  little 
truck  of  apples  in  from  the  Rue  du  Martroi,  a  third  vehicle  of 
any  kind  produced  difficulties.  The  foot-passengers  fled  in 
alarm,  seeking  a  post  to  protect  them  from  the  old-fashioned 
axles,  which  had  attained  such  prominence  that  a  law  was 
passed  at  last  to  reduce  their  length. 

When  the  salad-basket  came  in,  this  passage  was  blocked 
by  a  market-woman  with  a  costermonger's  vegetable  cart — 
one  of  a  type  which  is  all  the  more  strange  because  specimens 
still  exist  in  Paris  in  spite  of  the  increasing  number  of  green- 
grocers' stores.  She  was  so  thoroughly  a  street  peddler  that  a 
Sergent  de  Ville,  if  that  particular  class  of  police  had  been 


328  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

then  in  existence,  would  have  allowed  her  to  ply  her  trade 
without  inspecting  her  permit,  in  spite  of  a  sinister  counte- 
nance that  reeked  of  crime.  Her  head,  wrapped  in  a  cheap 
and  ragged  checked  cotton  kerchief,  was  horrid  with  rebellious 
locks  of  hair,  like  the  bristles  of  a  wild  boar.  Her  red  and 
wrinkled  neck  was  disgusting,  and  her  little  shawl  failed  to 
entirely  conceal  a  chest  tanned  brown  by  the  sun,  dust,  and 
mud.  Her  gown  was  patchwork ;  her  shoes  gaped  as  though 
they  were  grinning  at  a  face  as  full  of  holes  as  the  gown. 
And  what  an  apron  !  a  poultice  would  have  seemed  less  filthy. 
This  moving  and  fetid  rag  must  have  stunk  in  the  nostrils  of 
dainty  folk  ten  yards  away.  Those  hands  had  gleaned  a 
hundred  harvest-fields.  Either  the  woman  had  returned  from 
a  German  witches'  Sabbath,  or  she  had  come  out  of  a  men- 
dicity asylum.  But  what  eyes  !  what  audacious  intelligence, 
what  repressed  vitality  when  the  magnetic  flash  of  her  look 
and  of  Jacques  Collin's  met  to  exchange  a  thought ! 

"Get  out  of  the  way,  you  old  vermin-trap!  "  cried  the 
postillion  of  the  salad-basket  in  harsh  tones. 

"  Mind  you  don't  crush  me,  you  hangman's  apprentice  !  " 
she  retorted.  "Your  cartful  is  not  worth  nearly  as  much  as 
mine." 

And  by  trying  to  squeeze  in  between  two  cornerstones  to 
make  way,  the  old  woman  managed  to  block  the  passage  long 
enough  to  achieve  her  purpose. 

"Oh!  Asia!"  said  Jacques  Collin  to  himself,  at  once 
recognizing  his  accomplice.  "  Then  all  is  well." 

The  post-boy  was  still  exchanging  amenities  with  Asia,  and 
vehicles  were  collecting  in  the  Rue  du  Martroi. 

"Look  out,  there — Pecairi  fermdti.  Souni  la — Vedrem" 
shrieked  old  Asia,  with  the  Red-Indian  intonations  peculiar 
to  these  female  costermongers,  who  disfigure  their  words  in 
such  a  way  that  they  are  transformed  into  a  sort  of  onomato- 
poeia incomprehensible  to  any  but  Parisians* 

In  the  confusion  in  the  alley,  and  among  the  outcries  of  all 


THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  329 

the  waiting  drivers,  no  one  paid  any  heed  to  this  wild  yell, 
which  might  have  been  the  woman's  usual  cry.  But  this  gib- 
berish, intelligible  to  Jacques  Collin,  sent  to  his  ear  in  a 
mongrel  language  of  their  own — a  mixture  of  bad  Italian  and 
Provencal — this  important  news : 

"Your  poor  boy  is  nabbed.  I  am  here  to  keep  an  eye  on 
you.  We  shall  meet  again." 

In  the  midst  of  his  joy  at  having  thus  triumphed  over  the 
police,  for  he  hoped  to  be  able  to  keep  up  communications, 
Jacques  Collin  had  a  blow  which  might  have  killed  any  other 
man. 

"  Lucien  in  custody  !  "  said  he  to  himself. 

He  almost  fainted.  This  news  was  to  him  more  terrible 
than  the  rejection  of  his  appeal  could  have  been  if  he  had 
been  condemned  to  death. 

Now  that  both  the  prison  vans  are  rolling  along  the  quay, 
the  interest  of  this  story  requires  that  I  should  add  a  few 
words  about  the  Conciergerie,  while  they  are  making  their 
way  thither.  The  Conciergerie,  a  historical  name — a  terrible 
name — a  still  more  terrible  thing,  is  inseparable  from  the 
Revolutions  of  France,  and  especially  those  of  Paris.  It  has 
known  most  of  our  great  criminals.  But  if  it  is  the  most 
interesting  of  the  buildings  of  Paris,  it  is  also  the  least  known 
— least  known  to  persons  of  the  upper  classes  ;  still,  in  spite 
of  the  interest  of  this  historical  digression,  it  shall  be  as  rapid 
as  the  journey  of  the  prison  vans. 

What  Parisian,  what  foreigner,  or  what  provincial  can  have 
failed  to  observe  the  gloomy  and  mysterious  features  of  the 
Quai  des  Lunettes — a  structure  of  black  walls  flanked  by  three 
round  towers  with  conical  roofs,  two  of  them  almost  touching 
each  other?  This  quay,  beginning  at  the  Pont  du  Change, 
ends  at  the  Pont  Neuf.  A  souare  tower — the  Clock  Tower, 
or  Tour  de  1'Horloge,  whence  the  signal  was  given  for  the 
massacre  of  Saint-Bartholomew — a  tower  almost  as  tall  as  that 


330  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

of  Saint-Jacques  de  la  Boucherie,  shows  where  the  Palais  de 
Justice  stands,  and  forms  the  corner  of  the  quay. 

These  four  towers  and  these  walls  are  shrouded  in  the  black 
winding-sheet  which,  in  Paris,  falls  on  every  facade  to  the 
north.  About  half-way  along  the  quay  at  a  gloomy  archway 
we  see  the  beginning  of  the  private  houses  which  were  built  in 
consequence  of  the  construction  of  the  Pont  Neuf  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  IV.  The  Place  Royale  was  a  replica  of  the  Place 
Dauphine.  The  style  of  architecture  is  the  same,  of  brick 
with  binding  courses  of  hewn  stone.  This  archway  and  the 
Rue  de  Harlay  are  the  limit  line  of  the  Palais  de  Justice  on 
the  west.  Formerly  the  Prefecture  de  Police,  once  the  resi- 
dence of  the  presidents  of  the  Parlement,  was  a  dependency 
of  the  Palace.  The  Court  of  Exchequer  and  Court  of  Sub- 
sidies completed  the  Supreme  Court  of  Justice,  the  Sovereign's 
Court.  It  will  be  seen  that  before  the  Revolution  the  Palace 
enjoyed  that  isolation  which  now  again  is  aimed  at. 

This  block,  this  island  of  residences  and  official  buildings, 
in  their  midst  the  Sainte-Chapelle — that  priceless  jewel  of 
Saint-Louis'  chaplet — is  the  sanctuary  of  Paris,  its  holy  place, 
its  sacred  ark. 

For  one  thing,  this  island  was  at  first  the  whole  of  the  city, 
for  the  plot  now  forming  the  Place  Dauphine  was  a  meadow 
attached  to  the  royal  demesne,  where  stood  a  stamping  mill 
for  coining  money.  Hence  the  name  of  Rue  de  la  Monnaie 
— the  street  leading  to  the  Pont  Neuf.  Hence^  too,  the  name 
of  one  of  the  round  towe'rs — the  middle  one — called  the  Tour 
d'Argent,  which  would  seem  to  show  that  money  was  originally 
coined  there.  The  famous  mill,  to  be  seen  marked  in  old 
maps  of  Paris,  may  very  likely  be  more  recent  than  the  time 
when  money  was  coined  in  the  Palace  itself,  and  was  erected, 
no  doubt,  for  the  practice  of  improved  methods  in  the  art  of 
coining. 

The  first  tower,  hardly  detached  from 'the  Tour  d'Argent, 
is  the  Tour  de  Montgomery ;  the  third,  and  smallest,  but  the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  331 

best  preserved  of  the  three,  for  it  still  has  its  battlements,  is 
the  Tour  Bonbec. 

The  Sainte-Chapelle  and  its  four  towers — counting  the  cloch 
tower  as  one — clearly  define  the  precincts ;  or,  as  a  surveyor 
would  say,  the  perimeter  of  the  Palace,  as  it  was  from  the 
time  of  the  Merovingians  till  the  accession  of  the  first  race  of 
Valois ;  but  to  us,  as  a  result  of  certain  alterations,  this  Palace 
is  more  especially  representative  of  the  period  of  Saint-Louis. 

Charles  V.  was  the  first  to  give  the  Palace  up  to  the  Parle- 
ment,  then  a  new  institution,  and  went  to  reside  in  the 
famous  Hotel  Saint-Pol  under  the  protection  of  the  Bastille. 
The  Palais  des  Tournelles  was  subsequently  erected  backing 
on  to  the  Hotel  Saint-Pol.  Thus,  under  the  later  Valois,  the 
kings  came  back  from  the  Bastille  to  the  Louvre,  which  had 
been  their  first  bastille — that  is,  fortress. 

The  original  residence  of  the  French  kings,  the  Palace  of 
Saint-Louis,  which  has  preserved  the  designation  of  Le  Palais, 
to  indicate  the  Palace  of  palaces,  is  entirely  buried  under  the 
Palais  de  Justice  ;  it  forms  the  cellars,  for  it  was  built,  like 
the  cathedral,  in  the  Seine,  and  with  such  care  that  the  highest 
floods  in  the  river  scarcely  cover  the  lowest  steps.  The  Quai 
de  1'Horloge  covers,  twenty  feet  below  the  surface,  its  foun- 
dations of  a  thousand  years  old.  Carriages  run  on  the  level 
of  the  capitals  of  the  solid  columns  under  these  towers,  and 
formerly  their  appearance  must  have  harmonized  with  the 
elegance  of  the  Palace,  and  have  had  a  picturesque  effect  over 
the  water,  since  to  this  day  those  towers  vie  in  height  with  the 
loftiest  buildings  in  Paris. 

As  we  look  down  on  this  vast  capital  from  the  lantern  of 
the  Pantheon,  the  Palace  with  the  Sainte-Chapelle  is  still  the 
most  monumental  of  many  monumental  buildings.  The  home 
of  our  kings,  over  which  you  tread  as  you  pace  the  immense 
hall  known  as  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus,  was  a  miracle  of  archi-. 
tecture  ;  and  it  is  so  still  to  the  intelligent  eye  of  the  poet  who 
kappens  to  study  it  when  inspecting  the  Conciergerie.  Alas ! 


332  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

for  the  Conciergerie  has  invaded  the  home  of  kings.  One's 
heart  bleeds  to  see  the  way  in  which  cells,  cupboards,  cor- 
ridors, warders'  rooms,  and  halls  devoid  of  light  or  air,  have 
been  hewn  out  of  that  beautiful  structure  in  which  Byzantine, 
Gothic,  and  Romanesque — the  three  phases  of  ancient  art, 
were  harmonized  in  one  building  by  the  architecture  of  the 
twelfth  century. 

This  palace  is  an  architectural  history  of  France  in  the 
earliest  times,  just  as  Blois  is  that  of  a  later  period.  As  at 
Blois  you  may  admire  in  a  single  courtyard  the  chateau  of  the 
Counts  of  Blois,  that  of  Louis  XII.,  that  of  Francis  I.,  that 
of  Gaston ;  so  at  the  Conciergerie  you  will  find  within  the 
same  precincts  the  stamp  of  the  early  races,  and,  in  the  Sainte- 
Chapelle,  the  architecture  of  Saint-Louis. 

Municipal  Council  (to  you  I  speak),  you  who  bestow 
millions,  get  a  poet  or  two  to  assist  your  architects  if  you  wish 
to  save  the  cradle  of  Paris,  the  cradle  of  kings,  while  en- 
deavoring to  endow  Paris  and  the  Supreme  Court  with  a 
palace  worthy  of  France.  It  is  a  matter  for  study  for  some 
years  before  beginning  the  work.  Another  new  prison  or  two 
like  that  of  La  Roquette,  and  the  palace  of  Saint-Louis  will 
be  safe. 

In  these  days  many  grievances  afflict  this  vast  mass  of  build- 
ings, buried  under  the  Palais  de  Justice  and  the  quay,  like 
some  antediluvian  creature  in  the  soil  of  Montmartre;  but 
the  worst  affliction  is  that  it  is  the  Conciergerie.  This 
epigram  is  intelligible.  In  the  early  days  of  the  monarchy, 
noble  criminals — for  the  villeins  (a  word  signifying  the  peas- 
antry in  French  and  English  alike)  and  the  citizens  came 
under  the  jurisdiction  of  the  municipality  or  of  their  liege 
lord — the  lords  of  the  greater  or  the  lesser  fiefs,  were  brought 
before  the  king  and  guarded  in  the  Conciergerie.  And  as 
these  noble  criminals  were  few,  the  Conciergerie  was  large 
enough  for  the  king's  prisoners. 

It  is  difficult  now  to  be  quite  certain  of  the  exact  site  of  the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  333 

original  Conciergerie.  However,  the  kitchens  built  by  Saint- 
Louis  still  exist,  forming  what  is  now  called  the  mousetrap ; 
and  it  is  probable  that  the  original  Conciergerie  was  situated 
in  the  place  where,  till  1825,  the  Conciergerie  prisons  of  the 
Parlement  were  still  in  use,  under  the  archway  to  the  right  of 
the  wide  outside  steps  leading  to  the  Supreme  Court.  From 
thence,  until  1825,  condemned  criminals  were  taken  to  execu- 
tion. From  that  gate  came  forth  all  the  great  criminals,  all 
the  victims  of  political  feeling.  The  Marcechale  d'Ancre 
and  the  Queen  of  France,  Semblancay  and  Malesherbes, 
Damien  and  Danton,  Desrues  and  Castaing.  Fouquier  Tin- 
ville's  private  room,  like  that  of  the  public  prosecutor  now, 
was  so  placed  that  he  could  see  the  procession  of  tumbrils  con- 
taining the  persons  whom  the  Revolutionary  tribunal  had 
sentenced  to  death.  Thus  this  man,  who  had  become  an  axe, 
could  give  a  last  glance  at  each  "batch." 

After  1825,  when  Monsieur  de  Peyronnet  was  minister,  a 
great  change  was  made  in  the  Palais.  The  old  entrance  to 
the  Conciergerie,  where  the  ceremonies  of  registering  the 
criminal  and  of  the  last  toilet  were  performed,  was  closed  and 
removed  to  where  it  now  is,  between  the  Tour  de  1'Horloge 
and  the  Tour  de  Montgomery,  in  an  inner  court  entered 
through  an  arched  passage.  To  the  left  is  the  "mousetrap," 
to  the  right  the  prison  gates.  The  salad-baskets  can  drive 
into  this  irregularly  shaped  courtyard,  can  stand  there  and 
turn  with  ease,  and  in  case  of  a  riot  find  some  protection  be- 
hind the  strong  grating  of  the  gate  under  the  arch  ;  whereas 
they  formerly  had  no  room  to  move  in  the  narrow  space  di- 
viding the  outside  steps  from  the  right  wing  of  the  Palace. 

In  our  day  the  Conciergerie,  hardly  large  enough  for  the 
prisoners  committed  for  trial — room  being  needed  for  about 
three  hundred,  men  and  women — no  longer  receives  either 
suspected  or  remanded  criminals  except  in  rare  cases,  as,  for 
instance,  in  these  of  Jacques  Collin  and  Lucien.  All  who  are 
imprisoned  there  are  committed  for  trial  at  the  assizes.  As  an 


334  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

exception  criminals  of  the  higher  ranks  are  allowed  to  sojourn 
there,  since,  being  already  disgraced  by  a  sentence  in  open 
court,  their  punishment  would  be  too  severe  if  they  served 
their  term  of  imprisonment  at  Melun  or  at  Poissy.  Ouvrard 
preferred  to  be  imprisoned  at  the  Conciergerie  rather  than 
at  Sainte-Pelagie.  At  this  moment  of  writing  Lehon  the 
notary  and  the  Prince  de  Bergues  are  serving  their  time  there 
by  an  exercise  of  leniency  which,  though  arbitrary,  is  humane. 

As  a  rule,  suspected  criminals,  whether  they  are  to  be  sub- 
jected to  a  preliminary  examination — to  "go  up,"  in  the 
slang  of  the  Courts — or  to  appear  before  the  magistrate  of  the 
lower  Court,  are  transferred  in  prison  vans  direct  to  the 
"mousetraps." 

The  mousetraps,  opposite  the  gate,  consist  of  a  certain 
number  of  cells  constructed  in  the  old  kitchens  of  Saint-Louis' 
building,  whither  prisoners  not  yet  fully  committed  are 
brought  to  await  the  hour  when  the  Court  sits,  or  the  arrival 
of  the  examining  judge.  The  mousetraps  end  on  the  north  at 
the  quay,  on  the  east  at  the  headquarters  of  the  Municipal 
Guard,  on  the  west  at  the  courtyard  of  the  Conciergerie,  and 
on  the  south  they  adjoin  a  large  vaulted  hall,  formerly,  no 
doubt,  the  banqueting-room,  but  at  present  disused. 

Above  the  mousetraps  is  an  inner  guard-room  with  a  window 
commanding  the  court  of  the  Conciergerie ;  this  is  used  by 
the  gendarmerie  of  the  department,  and  the  stairs  lead  up  to 
it.  When  the  hour  of  trial  strikes  the  sheriffs  call  the  roll  of 
the  prisoners,  the  gendarmes  go  down,  one  for  each  prisoner, 
and  each  gendarme  takes  a  criminal  by  the  arm ;  and  thus,  in 
couples,  they  mount  the  stairs,  cross  the  guard-room,  and  are 
led  along  the  passages  to  a  room  contiguous  to  the  hall  where 
sits  the  famous  sixth  chamber  of  the  correctional  police  court. 
The  same  road  is  trodden  by  the  prisoners  committed  for  trial 
on  their  way  to  and  from  the  Conciergerie  and  the  Assize 
Court. 

In  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus,  between  the  door  into  the  first 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  335 

court  of  the  inferior  class  and  the  steps  leading  to  the  sixth, 
the  visitor  must  observe  the  first  time  he  goes  there  a  doorway 
without  a  door  or  any  architectural  adornment,  a  square  hole 
of  the  meanest  type.  Through  this  the  judges  and  barristers 
find  their  way  into  the  passages,  into  the  guard-house,  down 
into  the  prison  cells,  and  to  the  entrance  to  the  Conciergerie. 

The  private  chambers  of  all  the  examining  judges  are  on 
different  floors  in  this  part  of  the  building.  They  are  reached 
by  squalid  staircases,  a  maze  in  which  those  to  whom  the  place 
is  unfamiliar  inevitably  lose  themselves.  The  windows  of  some 
look  out  on  the  quay,  others  on  the  yard  of  the  Conciergerie. 
In  1830  a  few  of  these  rooms  commanded  the  Rue  de  la 
Barillerie. 

Thus,  when  a  prison  van  turns  to  the  left  in  this  yard,  it 
has  brought  prisoners  to  be  examined  to  the  mousetrap ;  when 
it  turns  to  the  right,  it  conveys  prisoners  committed  for  trial, 
to  the  Conciergerie.  Now  it  was  to  the  right  that  the  vehicle 
turned  which  conveyed  Jacques  Collin  to  set  him  down  at  the 
prison  gate.  Nothing  can  be  more  sinister.  Prisoners  and 
visitors  see  two  barred  gates  of  wrought  iron,  with  a  space 
between  them  of  about  six  feet.  These  are  never  both  opened 
at  once,  and  through  them  everything  is  so  cautiously  scruti- 
nized that  persons  who  have  a  visiting  ticket  pass  the  permit 
through  the  bars  before  the  key  grinds  in  the  lock.  The 
examining  judges,  or  even  the  supreme  judges,  are  not 
admitted  without  being  identified.  Imagine,  then,  the 
chances  of  communications  or  escape  !  The  governor  of  the 
Conciergerie  would  smile  with  an  expression  on  his  lips  that 
would  freeze  the  mere  suggestion  in  the  most  daring  of 
romancers  who  defy  probability. 

In  all  the  annals  of  the  Conciergerie  no  escape  has  been 
known  but  that  of  Lavalette ;  but  the  certain  fact  of  august 
connivance,  now  amply  proven,  if  it  does  not  detract  from 
the  wife's  devotion,  certainly  diminished  the  risk  of  failure. 

The  most  ardent  lover  of  the  marvelous,  judging  on  the 


336  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

spot  of  the  nature  of  the  difficulties,  must  admit  that  at  all 
times  the  obstacles  must  have  been,  as  they  still  are,  insur- 
mountable. No  words  can  do  justice  to  the  strength  of  the 
walls  and  vaulting ;  they  must  be  seen. 

Though  the  pavement  of  the  yard  is  on  a  lower  level  than 
that  of  the  quay,  in  crossing  this  barbican  you  go  down  several 
steps  to  enter  an  immense  vaulted  hall,  with  solid  walls  graced 
with  magnificent  columns.  This  hall  abuts  on  the  Tour  de 
Montgomery — which  is  now  part  of  the  governor's  residence 
— and  on  the  Tour  d'Argent,  serving  as  a  dormitory  for  the 
warders,  or  jailers,  or  turnkeys,  as  you  may  prefer  to  call 
them.  The  number  of  the  officials  is  less  than  might  be  sup- 
posed ;  there  are  but  twenty;  their  sleeping  quarters,  like  their 
beds,  are  in  no  respect  different  from  those  of  faz  pistoles  or 
private  cells.  The  name  pistole  originated,  no  doubt,  in  the 
fact  that  prisoners  formerly  paid  a  pistole  (about  ten  francs)  a 
week  for  this  accommodation,  its  bareness  resembling  that  of 
the  empty  garrets  in  which  great  men  in  poverty  begin  their 
career  in  Paris. 

To  the  left,  in  the  vast  entrance  hall,  sits  the  governor  of 
the  Conciergerie,  in  the  greffe,  a  sort  of  office  constructed  of 
glass  panes,  where  he  and  his  clerk  keep  the  prison-registers. 
Here  the  prisoners  for  examination,  or  committed  for  trial, 
have  their  names  entered  with  a  full  description,  and  are  then 
searched.  The  question  of  their  lodging  is  also  settled,  this 
depending  on  the  prisoner's  means. 

Opposite  the  entrance  to  this  hall  there  is  a  glass  door. 
This  opens  into  a  parlor  where  the  prisoner's  relations  and 
his  counsel  may  speak  with  him  across  a  double  grating  of 
wood.  The  parlor  window  opens  on  to  the  prison  yard,  the 
inner  court  or  preau,  where  prisoners  committed  for  trial 
take  air  and  exercise  at  certain  fixed  hours. 

This  large  hall,  only  lighted  by  the  doubtful  daylight  that 
comes  in  through  the  gates — for  the  single  window  to  the 
front  court  is  screened  by  the  glass  office  built  out  in  front  of 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  337 

it — has  an  atmosphere  and  a  gloom  that  strike  the  eye  in  per- 
fect harmony  with  the  pictures  that  force  themselves  on  the 
imagination.  Its  aspect  is  all  the  more  sinister  because, 
parallel  with  the  Tours  d'Argent  and  de  Montgomery,  you 
discover  those  mysterious  vaulted  and  overwhelming  crypts 
which  lead  to  the  cells  occupied  by  the  Queen  and  Madame 
Elizabeth,  and  to  those  known  as  the  secret  cells.  This  maze 
of  masonry,  after  being  of  old  the  scene  of  royal  festivities, 
is  now  the  basement  of  the  Palais  de  Justice. 

Between  1825  and  1832  the  operation  of  the  last  toilet  was 
performed  in  this  enormous  hall,  between  a  large  china  stove 
which  heats  it  and  the  inner  gate.  It  is  impossible  even  now 
to  tread  without  a  shudder  on  the  paved  floor  that  has  received 
the  shock  and  the  confidences  of  so  many  last  glances. 

The  apparently  dying  victim  on  this  occasion  could  not  get 
out  of  the  horrible  vehicle  without  the  assistance  of  two  gen- 
darmes, who  took  him  under  the  arms  to  support  him,  and  led 
him  half  unconscious  into  the  office.  Thus  dragged  along, 
the  dying  man  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  in  such  a  way  as  to 
suggest  a  resemblance  to  the  Saviour  taken  down  from  the 
cross.  And  certainly  in  no  picture  does  Jesus  present  a  more 
cadaverous  or  tortured  countenance  than  this  of  the  sham 
Spaniard  ;  he  looked  ready  to  breathe  his  last  sigh.  As  soon 
as  he  was  seated  in  the  office,  he  repeated  in  a  weak  voice  the 
speech  he  had  made  to  everybody  since  he  was  arrested— 

"I  appeal  to  his  excellency  the  Spanish  ambassador." 

"You  can  say  that  to  the  examining  judge,"  replied  the 
governor. 

"  Oh  Lord  !  "  said  Jacques  Collin,  with  a  sigh.  "  But  can- 
not I  have  a  breviary?  Shall  I  never  be  allowed  to  see  a 
doctor?  I  have  not  two  hours  to  live." 

As  Carlos  Herrera  was  to  be  placed  in  close  confinement 
in  the  secret  cells,  it  was  needless  to  ask  him  whether  he 
claimed  the  benefits  of  the  pistole  (as  above  described) — that 
22 


338  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

is  to  say,  the  right  of  having  one  of  the  rooms  where  the 
prisoner  enjoys  such  comfort  as  the  law  permits.  These 
rooms  are  on  the  other  side  of  the  prison  yard,  of  which 
mention  will  presently  be  made.  The  sheriff  and  the  clerk 
calmly  carried  out  the  formalities  of  the  consignment  to  prison. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Jacques  Collin  to  the  governor  in  broken 
French,  "I  am,  as  you  see,  a  dying  man.  Pray,  if  you  can, 
tell  that  examining  judge  as  soon  as  possible  that  I  crave  as  a 
favor  what  a  criminal  must  most  dread,  namely,  to  be  brought 
before  him  as  soon  as  he  arrives ;  for  my  sufferings  are  really 
unbearable,  and  as  soon  as  I  see  him  the  mistake  will  be 
cleared  up " 

As  a  universal  rule  every  criminal  talks  of  a  mistake.  Go 
to  the  hulks  and  question  the  convicts :  they  are  almost  all 
victims  of  a  miscarriage  of  justice.  So  this  speech  raises  a 
faint  smile  in  all  who  come  into  contact  with  the  suspected, 
accused,  or  convicted  criminal. 

"I  will  mention  your  request  to  the  examining  judge," 
replied  the  governor. 

"  And  I  shall  bless  you,  monsieur  !  "  replied  the  false  abbe, 
raising  his  eyes  to  heaven. 

As  soon  as  his  name  was  entered  on  the  calendar,  Carlos 
Herrera,  supported  under  each  arm  by  a  man  of  the  Municipal 
Guard,  and  followed  by  a  turnkey  instructed  by  the  governor 
as  to  the  number  of  the  cell  in  which  the  prisoner  was  to  be 
placed,  was  led  through  the  subterranean  maze  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie  into  a  perfectly  wholesome  room,  whatever  certain 
philanthropists  may  say  to  the  contrary,  but  cut  off  from  all 
possible  communication  with  the  outer  world. 

As  soon  as  he  was  removed,  the  warders,  the  governor,  and 
his  clerk  looked  at  each  other  as  though  asking  each  other's 
opinion,  and  suspicion  was  legible  on  every  face  ;  but  at  the 
appearance  of  the  second  man  in  custody  the  spectators  re- 
lapsed into  their  usual  doubting  frame  of  mind,  concealed 
under  an  air  of  indifference.  Only  in  very  extraordinary 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  339 

cases  do  the  functionaries  of  the  Conciergerie  feel  any  curi- 
osity; the  prisoners  are  no  more  to  them  than  a  barber's 
customers  are  to  him.  Hence  all  the  formalities  which  appall 
the  imagination  are  carried  out  with  less  fuss  than  a  money 
transaction  at  a  banker's,  and  more  than  often  with  a  greater 
civility. 

Lucien's  expression  was  that  of  a  dejected  criminal.  He 
submitted  to  everything,  and  obeyed  like  a  machine.  All  the 
way  from  Fontainebleau  the  poet  had  been  facing  his  ruin 
and  telling  himself  that  the  hour  of  expiation  had  tolled. 
Pale  and  exhausted,  knowing  nothing  of  what  had  happened 
at  Esther's  house  during  his  absence,  he  only  knew  that  he 
was  the  intimate  ally  of  an  escaped  convict,  a  situation  which 
enabled  him  to  guess  at  disaster  worse  than  death.  When  his 
mind  could  command  a  thought,  it  was  that  of  suicide.  He 
must,  at  any  cost,  escape  the  ignominy  that  loomed  before 
him  like  the  phantasm  of  a  dreadful  dream. 

Jacques  Collin,  as  the  more  dangerous  of  the  two  culprits, 
was  placed  in  a  cell  of  solid  masonry,  deriving  its  light  from 
one  of  the  narrow  yards,  of  which  there  are  several  in  the 
interior  of  the  Palace,  in  the  wing  containing  the  public 
prosecutor's  chambers.  This  little  yard  is  the  airing-ground 
for  the  female  prisoners.  Lucien  was  taken  to  the  same  part 
of  the  building,  to  a  cell  adjoining  the  rooms  let  to  misde- 
meanants ;  for,  by  orders  from  the  examining  judge,  the  gov- 
ernor treated  him  with  some  consideration. 

Persons  who  have  never  had  anything  to  do  with  the  action 
of  the  law  usually  have  the  darkest  notions  as  to  the  meaning 
of  solitary  or  secret  confinement.  Ideas  as  to  the  treatment 
of  criminals  have  not  yet  become  disentangled  from  the  old 
pictures  of  torture-chambers,  of  the  unhealthiness  of  a  prison, 
the  chill  of  stone  walls  sweating  tears,  the  coarseness  of  the 
jailers  and  of  the  food — inevitable  accessories  of  the  drama ; 
but  it  is  not  unnecessary  to  explain  here  that  these  exaggera- 
tions exist  only  on  the  stage,  and  only  make  lawyers  and 


340  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

judges  smile,  as  well  as  those  who  visit  prisons  out  of  curiosity, 
or  who  come  to  study  them. 

For  a  long  time,  no  doubt,  they  were  terrible.  In  the  days 
of  the  old  Parlement,  of  Louis  XIII.  and  Louis  XIV.,  the 
accused  were,  no  doubt,  flung  pell-mell  into  a  low  room  under- 
neath the  old  gateway.  The  prisons  were  among  the  crimes 
of  1789,  and  it  is  enough  only  to  see  the  cells  where  the 
Queen  and  Madame  Elizabeth  were  incarcerated  to  conceive 
the  deepest  horror  of  old  judicial  proceedings. 

In  our  day,  though  philanthropy  has  brought  incalculable 
mischief  on  society,  it  has  produced  some  good  for  the  indi- 
vidual. It  is  to  Napoleon  that  we  owe  our  Criminal  Code; 
and  this,  even  more  than  the  Civil  Code — which  still  urgently 
needs  reform  on  some  points — will  remain  one  of  the  greatest 
monuments  of  his  short  reign.  This  new  view  of  criminal  law 
put  an  end  to  a  perfect  abyss  of  misery.  Indeed,  it  may  be 
said  that,  apart  from  the  terrible  moral  torture  which  men  of 
the  better  classes  must  suffer  when  they  find  themselves  in  the 
power  of  the  law,  the  action  of  that  power  is  simple  and  mild 
to  a  degree  that  would  hardly  be  expected.  Suspected  or 
accused  criminals  are  certainly  not  lodged  as  if  they  were  at 
home ;  but  every  necessary  is  supplied  to  them  in  the  prisons 
of  Paris.  Beside,  the  burden  of  feelings  that  weighs  on  them 
deprives  the  details  of  daily  life  of  their  customary  value.  It 
is  never  the  body  that  suffers.  The  mind  is  in  such  a  phase 
of  violence  that  every  form  of  discomfort  or  of  brutal  treat- 
ment, if  such  there  were,  would  be  easily  endured  in  such  a 
frame  of  mind.  And  it  must  be  admitted  that  an  innocent 
man  is  quickly  released,  especially  in  Paris. 

So  Lucien,  on  entering  his  cell,  saw  an  exact  reproduction 
of  the  first  room  he  had  occupied  in  Paris  at  the  Hotel  Cluny. 
A  bed  to  compare  with  those  in  the  worst  furnished  apart- 
ments of  the  Quartier  Latin,  straw  chaiss  with  the  bottoms 
out,  a  table  and  a  few  utensils,  compose  the  furniture  of  such 
a  room,  in  which  two  accused  prisoners  are  not  infrequently 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  341 

placed  together  when  they  are  quiet  in  their  ways,  and  their 
misdeeds  are  not  crimes  of  violence,  but  such  as  forgery  or 
swindling. 

This  resemblance  between  his  starting-point  in  the  days  of 
his  innocency  and  his  jail,  the  lowest  depths  of  degradation 
and  shame,  was  so  direct  an  appeal  to  his  last  chord  of  poetic 
feeling,  that  the  unhappy  fellow  melted  into  tears.  For  four 
hours  he  wept,  as  rigid  in  appearance  as  a  figure  of  stone,  but 
enduring  the  subversion  of  all  his  hopes,  the  crushing  of  all 
his  social  vanity,  and  the  utter  overthrow  of  his  pride ;  smart- 
ing in  each  separate  /  that  exists  in  an  ambitious  man — a 
lover,  a  success,  a  dandy,  a  Parisian,  a  poet,  a  libertine,  and 
a  favorite.  Everything  in  him  was  broken  by  this  Icarian 
fall. 

Carlos  Herrera,  on  the  other  hand,  as  soon  as  he  was  locked 
into  his  cell  and  found  himself  alone,  began  pacing  it  to  and 
fro  like  the  polar  bear  in  his  cage.  He  carefully  examined 
the  door  and  assured  himself  that,  with  the  exception  of  the 
peep-hole,  called  the  "judas,"  there  was  not  a  crack  in  it. 
He  sounded  all  the  walls,  he  looked  up  the  funnel,  down 
which  a  dim  light  came,  and  he  said  to  himself: 

"  I  am  safe  enough  !  " 

He  sat  down  in  a  corner  where  the  eye  of  a  prying  warder 
at  the  grating  of  the  peep-hole  could  not  see  him.  Then  he 
took  off  his  wig,  and  hastily  ungummed  a  piece  of  paper  that 
did  duty  as  lining.  The  side  of  the  paper  next  his  head  was 
so  greasy  that  it  looked  like  the  very  texture  of  the  wig.  If  it 
had  occurred  to  Bibi-Lupin  to  snatch  off  the  wig  to  establish 
the  identity  of  the  Spaniard  with  Jacques  Collin,  he  would 
never  have  thought  twice  about  that  paper,  it  looked  so  exactly 
like  part  of  the  wigmaker's  work.  The  other  side  was  still 
fairly  white,  and  clean  enough  to  have  a  few  lines  written  on 
it.  The  delicate  and  tiresome  task  of  unsticking  it  had  been 
begun  in  La  Force ;  two  hours  would  not  have  been  long 
enough ;  it  had  taken  him  half  of  the  day  before.  The  pri&- 


342  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

oner  began  by  tearing  this  precious  scrap  of  paper  so  as  to 
have  a  strip  four  or  five  lines  wide,  which  he  divided  into 
several  bits ;  he  then  replaced  his  store  of  paper  in  the  same 
strange  hiding-place,  after  damping  the  gummed  side  so  as  to 
make  it  stick  again.  He  felt  in  a  lock  of  his  hair  for  one  of 
those  pencil-leads  as  thin  as  a  stout  pin,  then  recently  invented 
by  Susse,  and  which  he  had  put  in  with  mucilage ;  he  broke 
off  a  scrap  long  enough  to  write  with  and  small  enough  to 
hide  in  his  ear.  Having  made  these  preparations  with  the 
rapidity  and  certainty  of  hand  peculiar  to  old  convicts,  who 
are  as  light-fingered  as  monkeys,  Jacques  Collin  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  his  bed  to  meditate  on  his  instructions  to  Asia,  in 
perfect  confidence  that  he  should  come  across  her,  so  entirely 
did  he  rely  on  the  woman's  genius. 

"During  my  preliminary  examination,"  he  reflected,  "I 
pretended  to  be  a  Spaniard  and  spoke  broken  French,  ap- 
pealed to  my  ambassador,  and  alleged  diplomatic  privilege, 
not  understanding  anything  I  was  asked,  the  whole  perform- 
ance varied  by  fainting,  gasps,  pauses,  sighs — in  short,  all  the 
vagaries  of  a  dying  man.  I  must  stick  to  that.  My  papers 
are  all  regular.  Asia  and  I  can  eat  up  Monsieur  Camusot ;  he 
is  no  great  shakes ! 

"  Now  I  must  think  of  Lucien  ;  he  must  be  made  to  pull 
himself  together.  I  must  get  at  the  boy  at  whatever  cost,  and 
show  him  some  plan  of  conduct,  otherwise  he  will  give  him- 
self up,  give  me  up,  lose  all !  He  must  be  taught  his  lesson 
before  he  is  examined.  And,  beside,  I  must  find  some  wit- 
nesses to  swear  to  my  being  a  priest !  " 

Such  was  the  position,  moral  and  physical,  of  these  two 
prisoners,  whose  fate  at  the  moment  depended  on  Monsieur 
Camusot,  examining  judge  to  the  Inferior  Court  of  the  Seine, 
and  sovereign  master,  during  the  time  granted  to  him  by  the 
Code,  of  the  smallest  details  of  their  existence,  since  he  alone 
could  grant  leave  for  them  to  be  visited  by  the  chaplain,  the 
doctor,  or  any  one  else  in  the  world. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  343 

No  human  authority — neither  the  King,  nor  the  keeper  of 
the  seals,  nor  the  prime  minister,  can  encroach  on  the  power 
of  an  examining  judge ;  nothing  can  stop  him,  no  one  can 
control  him.  He  is  a  monarch,  subject  only  to  his  conscience 
and  the  Law.  At  the  present  time,  when  philosophers, 
philanthropists,  and  politicians  are  constantly  endeavoring  to 
reduce  every  social  power,  the  rights  conferred  on  the  examin- 
ing judges  have  become  the  object  of  attacks  that  are  all  the 
more  serious  because  they  are  almost  justified  by  those  rights, 
which,  it  must  be  owned,  are  enormous.  And  yet,  as  every 
man  of  sense  will  own,  that  power  ought  to  remain  unim- 
paired ;  in  certain  cases  its  exercise  can  be  mitigated  by  a 
strong  infusion  of  caution ;  but  society  is  already  threatened 
by  the  ineptitude  and  weakness  of  the  jury — which  is,  in  fact, 
the  really  supreme  bench,  and  which  ought  to  be  composed 
only  of  choice  and  elected  men — and  it  would  be  in  danger 
of  ruin  if  this  pillar  were  broken  which  now  upholds  our 
criminal  procedure. 

Arrest  on  suspicion  is  one  of  the  terrible  but  necessary 
powers  of  which  the  risk  to  society  is  counterbalanced  by  its 
immense  importance.  And,  beside,  distrust  of  the  magistracy 
in  general  is  a  beginning  of  social  dissolution.  Destroy  that 
institution,  and  reconstruct  it  on  another  basis;  insist — as  was 
the  case  before  the  Revolution — that  judges  should  show  a 
large  guarantee  of  fortune;  but,  at  any  cost,  believe  in  it! 
Do  not  make  it  an  image  of  society  only  to  insult  it. 

In  these  days  a  judge,  paid  as  a  functionary,  and  generally  a 
poor  man,  has  in  the  place  of  his  dignity  of  old  a  haughtiness 
of  demeanor  that  seems  odious  to  the  men  raised  to  be  his 
equals ;  for  haughtiness  is  dignity  without  a  solid  basis.  That 
is  the  vicious  element  in  the  present  system.  If  France  were 
divided  into  ten  circuits,  the  magistracy  might  be  reinstated 
by  conferring  its  dignities  on  men  of  fortune ;  but  with  six- 
and-twenty  circuits  this  is  impossible. 

The  only  real  amelioration  to  be  insisted  on  in  the  exercise 


344  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

of  the  power  intrusted  to  the  examining  judges  (juges  d'in- 
struction)  is  an  alteration  in  the  conditions  of  preliminary 
imprisonment.  The  mere  fact  of  suspicion  ought  to  make  no 
difference  in  the  habits  of  life  of  the  suspected  parties. 
Houses  of  detention  for  them  ought  to  be  constructed  in 
Paris,  furnished  and  arranged  in  such  a  way  as  greatly  to 
modify  the  feeling  of  the  public  with  regard  to  suspected 
persons.  The  law  is  good,  and  is  necessary ;  its  application 
is  in  fault,  and  public  feeling  judges  the  laws  from  the  way 
in  which  they  are  carried  out.  And  public  opinion  in  France 
condemns  persons  under  suspicion,  while,  by  an  inexplicable 
reaction,  it  justifies  those  committed  for  trial.  This,  perhaps, 
is  a  result  of  the  essentially  refractory  nature  of  the  French 
nation. 

This  illogical  temper  of  the  Parisian  people  was  one  of  the 
factors  which  contributed  to  the  climax  of  this  drama;  nay, 
as  will  be  seen,  it  was  one  of  the  most  important. 

To  enter  into  the  secret  of  the  terrible  scenes  which  are 
acted  out  in  the  examining  judge's  chambers  ;  to  understand 
the  respective  positions  of  the  two  belligerent  powers,  the 
Law  and  the  examinee,  the  object  of  whose  contest  is  a  certain 
secret  kept  by  the  prisoner  from  the  inquisition  of  the  magis- 
trate— well  named  in  prison  slang,  "the  curious  man" — it 
must  always  be  remembered  that  persons  imprisoned  under 
suspicion  know  nothing  of  what  is  being  said  by  the  seven  or 
eight  publics  that  compose  the  Public,  nothing  of  how  much 
the  police  know,  or  the  authorities,  or  the  little  that  news- 
papers can  publish  as  to  the  circumstances  of  the  crime. 

Thus,  to  give  a  man  in  custody  such  information  as  Jacques 
Collin  had  just  received  from  Asia  as  to  Lucien's  arrest  is 
throwing  a  rope  to  a  drowning  man.  As  will  be  seen,  in  con- 
sequence of  this  ignorance,  a  stratagem  which,  without  this 
warning,  must  certainly  have  been  equally  fatal  to  the  convict, 
was  doomed  to  failure.  With  these  points  once  explained, 
perhaps  the  least  emotional  person  may  well  tremble  at  the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  345 

result  of  the  three  causes  of  terror — isolation,  silence,  and 
remorse. 

Monsieur  Camusot,  son-in-law  of  one  of  the  ushers  of  the 
King's  cabinet,  too  well  known  for  any  account  of  his  position 
and  connection  to  be  necessary  here,  was  at  this  moment 
almost  as  much  perplexed  as  Carlos  Herrera  in  view  of  the 
examination  he  was  to  conduct.  He  had  formerly  been  presi- 
dent of  a  Court  of  the  Paris  circuit ;  he  had  been  raised  from 
that  position  and  called  to  be  a  judge  in  Paris — one  of  the 
most  coveted  posts  in  the  magistracy — by  the  influence  of  the 
celebrated  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  whose  husband,  attached 
to  the  Dauphin's  person,  and  colonel  of  a  cavalry  regiment  of 
the  Guards,  was  as  much  in  favor  with  the  King  as  she  was 
with  MADAME.  In  return  for  a  very  small  service  which  he 
had  done  the  duchess — an  important  matter  to  her — on  the 
occasion  of  a  charge  of  forgery  brought  against  the  young 
Comte  d'Esgrignon  by  a  banker  of  Alencon  (see  "The  Col- 
lection of  Antiquities"),  he  was  promoted  from  being  a  pro- 
vincial judge  to  be  president  of  his  Court,  and  from  being 
president  to  be  an  examining  judge  in  Paris. 

For  eighteen  months  now  he  had  sat  on  the  most  important 
bench  in  the  kingdom  ;  and  had  once,  at  the  desire  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  had  an  opportunity  of  forwarding 
the  ends  of  a  lady  not  less  influential  than  the  duchess,  namely, 
the  Marquise  d'Espard,  but  he  had  failed.  (See  "The  Com- 
mission in  Lunacy.") 

Lucien,  as  was  told  at  the  beginning  of  this  Scene,  to  be 
revenged  on  Madame  d'Espard,  who  aimed  at  depriving  her 
husband  of  his  liberty  of  action,  was  able  to  put  the  true  facts 
before  the  public  prosecutor  and  the  Comte  de  Serizy.  These 
two  important  authorities  being  thus  won  over  to  the  Marquis 
d'Espard's  party,  his  wife  had  barely  escaped  the  open  censure 
of  the  Court  by  her  husband's  generous  intervention. 

On  hearing,  yesterday,  of  Lucien's  arrest,  the  Marquise 


346  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

d'Espard  had  sent  her  brother-in-law,  the  Chevalier  d'Espard, 
to  see  Madame  Camusot.  Madame  Camusot  had  set  off  forth- 
with to  call  on  the  notorious  marquise.  Just  before  dinner, 
on  her  return  home,  she  had  called  her  husband  aside  into  the 
privacy  of  their  bedroom — 

"  If  you  can  commit  that  little  fop  Lucien  de  Rubempr6 
for  trial,  and  secure  his  condemnation,"  said  she  in  his  ear, 
"  you  will  most  certainly  be  made  councilor  to  the  Supreme 
Court " 

"How?" 

"  Madame  d'Espard  longs  to  see  that  poor  young  man  guil- 
lotined. I  shivered  asll  heard  what  a  pretty  woman's  hatred 
can  be  !  " 

"  Do  not  meddle  in  questions  of  law,"  said  Camusot. 

"  I !  meddle  !  "  said  she.  "  If  a  third  person  could  have 
heard  us,  he  could  not  have  guessed  what  we  were  talking 
about.  The  marquise  and  I  were  as  exquisitely  hypocritical 
to  each  other  as  you  are  to  me  at  this  moment.  She  began 
by  thanking  me  for  your  good  offices  in  her  suit,  saying  that 
she  was  grateful  in  spite  of  its  having  failed.  She  spoke  of 
the  terrible  functions  devolved  on  you  by  the  law,  '  It  is  fear- 
ful to  have  to  send  a  man  to  the  scaffold — but  as  to  that  man, 
it  would  be  no  more  than  justice,'  and  so  forth.  Then  she 
lamented  that  such  a  handsome  young  fellow,  brought  to  Paris 
by  her  cousin,  Madame  du  Chatelet,  should  have  turned  out 
so  badly.  'That,'  said  she,  'is  what  bad  women  like  Coralie 
and  Esther  bring  young  men  to  when  they  are  corrupt  enough 
to  share  their  disgraceful  profits  ! '  Next  came  some  fine 
speeches  about  charity  and  religion  !  Madame  du  Chatelet 
had  said  that  Lucien  deserved  a  thousand  deaths  for  having 
half  killed  his  mother  and  his  sister. 

"Then  she  spoke  of  a  vacancy  in  the  Supreme  Court — she 
knows  the  keeper  of  the  seals.  '  Your  husband,  madame,  has 
a  fine  opportunity  of  distinguishing  himself,'  she  said  in  con- 
clusion— and  that  is  all." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  347 

"  We  distinguish  ourselves  every  day  when  we  do  our  duty," 
said  Camusot. 

"  You  will  go  far  if  you  are  always  the  lawyer  even  to  your 
wife,"  cried  Madame  Camusot.  "Well,  I  used  to  think  you 
a  goose.  Now  I  admire  you." 

The  lawyer's  lips  wore  one  of  those  smiles  which  are  as 
peculiar  to  them  as  dancers'  smiles  are  to  dancers 

"  Madame,  may  I  come  in  ?  "  said  the  maid. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  her  mistress. 

"  Madame,  the  head  lady's-maid  came  from  the  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse  while  you  were  out,  and  she  will  be  obliged 
if  you  would  go  at  once  to  the  Hotel  de  Cadignan." 

"Put  the  dinner  back,"  said  the  lawyer's  wife,  remembering 
that  the  driver  of  the  hackney-coach  that  had  brought  her 
home  was  waiting  to  be  paid. 

She  put  her  bonnet  on  again,  got  into  the  coach,  and  in 
twenty  minutes  was  at  the  Hotel  de  Cadignan.  Madame 
Camusot  was  led  up  the  private  stairs,  and  sat  alone  for  ten 
minutes  in  a  boudoir  adjoining  the  duchess'  bedroom.  The 
duchess  presently  appeared,  splendidly  dressed,  for  she  was 
starting  for  Saint-Cloud  in  obedience  to  a  Royal  invitation. 

"Between  you  and  me,  my  dear,  two  words  are  enough," 
said  she. 

"  Yes,  Madame  la  Duchesse." 

"  Lucien  de  Rubempre  is  in  custody,  your  husband  is  con- 
ducting the  inquiry;  I  will  answer  for  the  poor  boy's  inno- 
cence ;  see  that  he  is  released  within  twenty-four  hours.  This 
is  not  all.  Some  one  will  ask  to-morrow  to  see  Lucien  in 
private  in  his  cell ;  your  husband  may  be  present  if  he  chooses, 
so  long  as  he  is  not  discovered.  I  am,  as  you  know,  true  to 
those  who  do  me  a  service.  The  King  looks  for  high  courage 
in  his  magistrates  in  the  difficult  position  in  which  he  will 
presently  find  himself;  I  will  bring  your  husband  forward, 
and  recommend  him  as  a  man  devoted  to  the  King  even  at 
the  risk  of  his  head.  Our  friend  Camusot  will  be  made  first 


348  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

a  councilor,  and  then  the  president  of  Court  somewhere  or 
other.  Adieu.  I  am  under  orders,  you  will  excuse  me,  I 
know? 

"  You  will  not  only  oblige  the  public  prosecutor,  whose 
name  must  not  be  mentioned  and  who  cannot  give  an  opinion 
in  this  affair ;  but  you  will  also  save  the  life  of  a  dying  woman, 
Madame  de  Serizy.  So  you  will  not  lack  support. 

"  In  short,  you  see,  I  put  my  trust  in  you,  I  need  not  say — 
you  know " 

She  laid  a  finger  to  her  lips  and  disappeared. 

"  And  I  had  not  a  chance  of  telling  her  that  Madame 
d'Espard  wants  to  see  Lucien  on  the  scaffold  !  "  thought  the 
judge's  wife  as  she  returned  to  her  hack. 

She  got  home  in  such  a  state  of  anxiety  that  her  husband, 
on  seeing  her,  asked — 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Amelie?  " 

"We  stand  between  two  fires." 

She  told  her  husband  of  her  interview  with  the  duchess, 
speaking  in  his  ear  for  fear  the  maid  should  be  listening  at  the 
door. 

"Now,  which  of  them  has  most  power?"  she  said  in  con- 
clusion. "The  marquise  was  very  near  getting  you  into 
trouble  in  the  silly  business  of  the  commission  on  her  husband, 
and  we  owe  everything  to  the  duchess. 

"  One  made  vague  promises,  while  the  other  one  tells  you 
you  shall  first  be  councilor  and  then  president.  Heaven  for- 
bid I  should  advise  you ;  I  will  never  meddle  in  matters  of 
business ;  still,  I  am  bound  to  repeat  exactly  what  is  said  at 
Court  and  what  is  preparing  there " 

"  But,  Amelie,  you  do  not  know  what  the  prefect  of  police 
sent  me  this  morning,  and  by  whom  ?  By  one  of  the  most 
important  agents  of  the  superior  police,  the  Bibi-Lupin  of 
politics,  who  told  me  that  the  Government  had  a  secret  in- 
terest in  this  trial.  Now  let  us  dine  and  go  to  the  Varietes. 
We  will  talk  all  this  over  to-night  in  my  private  room,  for  I 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  349 

shall  need  your  intelligence ;  that  of  a  judge  may  not  perhaps 
be  enough " 

Nine  magistrates  out  of  ten  would  deny  the  influence  of  the 
wife  over  her  husband  in  such  cases ;  but  though  this  may  be 
a  remarkable  exception  in  society,  it  may  be  insisted  on  as 
true,  even  if  improbable.  The  judge  is  like  the  priest,  espe- 
cially in  Paris,  where  the  best  of  the  profession  are  to  be 
found  ;  he  rarely  speaks  of  his  business  in  the  Courts,  except 
of  settled  cases.  Not  only  do  magistrates'  wives  affect  to 
know  nothing ;  they  have  enough  sense  of  conventional  pro- 
priety to  understand  that  it  would  damage  their  husbands  if, 
when  they  are  told  some  secret,  they  allowed  their  knowledge 
to  be  suspected. 

Nevertheless,  on  some  great  occasions,  when  promotion 
depends  on  the  decision  taken,  many  a  wife,  like  Amelie,  has 
helped  the  lawyer  in  his  study  of  a  case.  And,  after  all,  these 
exceptions,  which,  of  course,  are  easily  denied,  since  they 
remain  unknown,  depend  entirely  on  the  way  in  which  the 
struggle  between  two  natures  has  worked  out  in  home-life. 
Now,  Madame  Camusot  controlled  her  husband  completely. 

When  all  in  the  house  were  asleep,  the  lawyer  and  his  wife 
sat  down  to  the  desk,  where  the  magistrate  had  already  laid 
out  the  documents  in  the  case. 

"  Here  are  the  notes,  forwarded  to  me,  at  my  request,  by 
the  prefet  de  police,"  said  Camusot. 

"THE  ABBE  CARLOS  HERRERA. 

"  This  individual  is  undoubtedly  the  man  named  Jacques 
Collin,  known  as  Trompe-la-Mort,  who  was  last  arrested  in 
1819,  in  the  dwelling-house  of  a  certain  Madame  Vauquer, 
who  kept  a  common  boarding-house  in  the  Rue  Neuve-Sainte- 
Genevieve,  where  he  lived  in  concealment  under  the  alias  of 
Vautrin." 

A  marginal  note  in  the  prefect's  handwriting  ran  thus: 
"Orders  have  been  sent  by  telegraph  to  Bibi-Lupin,  chief  of 


360  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

the  Safety  department,  to  return  forthwith,  to  be  confronted 
with  the  prisoner,  as  he  is  personally  acquainted  with  Jacques 
Collin,  whom  he,  in  fact,  arrested  in  1819  with  the  conni- 
vance of  a  Mademoiselle  Michonneau." 

"  The  boarders  who  then  lived  in  the  Maison  Vauquer  are 
still  living,  and  may  be  called  to  establish  his  identity. 

"  The  self-styled  Carlos  Herrera  is  Monsieur  Lucien  de 
Rubempre's  intimate  friend  and  adviser,  and  for  three  years 
past  has  furnished  him  with  considerable  sums,  evidently  ob- 
tained by  dishonest  means. 

"  This  intimacy,  if  the  identity  of  the  Spaniard  with  Jacques 
Collin  can  be  proved,  must  involve  the  condemnation  of 
Lucien  de  Rubempre. 

"  The  sudden  death  of  Peyrade,  the  police  agent,  is  attrib- 
utable to  poison  administered  at  the  instigation  of  Jacques 
Collin,  Rubempre,  or  their  accomplices.  The  reason  for  this 
murder  is  the  fact  that  justice  had  for  a  long  time  been  on  the 
track  of  these  clever  criminals." 

And  again,  on  the  margin,  the  magistrate  pointed  to  this 
note  written  by  the  prefect  himself — 

"  This  is  the  fact  to  my  personal  knowledge ;  and  I  also 
know  that  the  Sieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre  has  disgracefully 
tricked  the  Comte  de  Serizy  and  the  public  prosecutor,  and 
misled  many  people  as  to  whence  he  derived  his  money." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  that,  Amelie?  " 

"  It  is  frightful !  "  replied  his  wife.     "  Go  on." 

"  The  transformation  of  the  convict  Jacques  Collin  into  a 
Spanish  priest  is  the  result  of  some  crime  more  clever  than 
that  by  which  Coignard  made  himself  Comte  de  Sainte- 
Helene." 

"  LUCIEN  DE  RUBEMPRE. 

"Lucien  Chardon,  son  of  an  apothecary  at  AngoulSme — 
his  mother  a  Demoiselle  de  Rubempre — bears  the  name  of 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  351 

Rubempre  in  virtue  of  a  royal  patent.  This  was  granted  at 
the  request  of  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  and 
Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Serizy. 

"This  young  man  came  to  Paris  in  182- without  any  means 
of  subsistence,  following  Madame  la  Comtesse  Sixte  du  Cha- 
telet,  then  Madame  de  Bargeton,  cousin  of  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse d'Espard's. 

"  He  was  ungrateful  to  Madame  de  Bargeton,  and  cohabited 
with  a  girl  named  Coralie,  an  actress  at  the  Gymnase,  now 
dead,  who  left  Monsieur  Camusot,  a  silk-dealer  in  the  Rue  des 
Bourdonnais,  to  live  with  Rubempre. 

"  Ere  long,  having  sunk  into  poverty,  through  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  the  money  allowed  him  by  this  actress,  he  seriously 
compromised  his  brother-in-law,  a  highly  respected  printer  of 
Angouleme,  by  giving  forged  bills,  for  which  David  Sechard 
was  arrested,  during  a  short  visit  paid  to  Angoulgme  by  Lucien. 
In  consequence  of  this  affair  Rubempre  fled,  but  suddenly  re- 
appeared in  Paris  with  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera. 

"  Without  known  means  of  subsistence,  the  said  Lucien  de 
Rubempre  spent  on  an  average  three  hundred  thousand  francs 
during  the  three  years  of  his  second  residence  in  Paris,  and 
can  only  have  obtained  the  money  from  the  self-styled  Abb6 
Carlos  Herrera — but  how  did  he  come  by  it? 

"  He  has  recently  laid  out  above  a  million  francs  in  repur- 
chasing the  Rubempre  estates  to  fulfill  the  conditions  on 
which  he  was  to  be  allowed  to  marry  Mademoiselle  Clotilde 
de  Grandlieu.  This  marriage  has  been  broken  off  in  conse- 
quence of  inquiries  made  by  the  Grandlieu  family,  the  said 
Lucien  having  told  them  that  he  had  obtained  the  money 
from  his  brother-in-law  and  his  sister;  but  the  information 
obtained,  more  especially  by  Monsieur  Derville,  attorney-at- 
law,  proves  that  not  only  were  that  worthy  couple  ignorant  of 
his  having  made  this  purchase,  but  that  they  believed  the  said 
Lucien  to  be  deeply  in  debt.  Moreover,  the  property  inher- 
ited by  the  Sechards  consists  of  houses ;  and  the  ready  money, 


352  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

by  their  affidavit,  amounted  to  about  two  hundred  thousand 
francs. 

"Lucien  was  secretly  cohabiting  with  Esther  Gobseck; 
hence  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  all  the  lavish  gifts  of  the 
Baron  de  Nucingen,  the  girl's  protector,  were  handed  over  to 
the  said  Lucien. 

"Lucien  and  his  companion,  the  convict,  have  succeeded 
in  keeping  their  footing  in  the  face  of  the  world  longer  than 
Coignard  did,  deriving  their  income  from  the  prostitution  of 
the  said  Esther,  who  was  formerly  a  registered  prostitute." 

Though  these  notes  are  to  a  great  extent  a  repetition  of  the 
story  already  told,  it  was  necessary  to  reproduce  them  to  show 
the  part  played  by  the  police  in  Paris.  As  has  already  been 
seen  from  the  note  on  Peyrade,  the  police  has  summaries 
(dossiers],  almost  invariably  correct,  concerning  every  family 
or  individual  whose  life  is  under  suspicion,  or  whose  actions 
are  of  a  doubtful  character.  It  knows  every  circumstance  of 
their  delinquencies.  This  universal  register  and  account  of 
consciences  is  as  accurately  kept  as  the  register  of  the  Bank 
of  France  and  its  account  of  fortunes.  Just  as  the  bank 
notes  the  slightest  delay  in  payment,  gauges  every  credit, 
takes  stock  of  every  capitalist,  and  watches  their  proceedings, 
so  does  the  police  weigh  and  measure  the  honesty  of  each 
citizen.  With  it,  as  in  a  Court  of  Law,  innocence  has  nothing 
to  fear ;  it  has  no  hold  on  anything  but  crime. 

However  high  the  rank  of  a  family,  it  cannot  evade  this 
social  inquisition. 

And  its  discretion  is  equal  to  the  extent  of  its  power.  This 
vast  mass  of  written  evidence  compiled  by  the  police — memo- 
randa, reports,  notes,  and  summaries — an  ocean  of  informa- 
tion, sleeps  undisturbed,  as  deep  and  calm  as  the  sea.  Some 
accident  occurs,  some  crime  or  misdemeanor  becomes  aggres- 
sive—then the  law  refers  to  the  police,  and  immediately,  if 
any  documents  bear  on  the  suspected  criminal,  the  judge  is 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  353 

informed.  These  records,  an  analysis  of  his  antecedents,  are 
merely  side-lights,  and  unknown  beyond  the  walls  of  the  Palais 
de  Justice.  No  legal  use  can  be  made  of  them ;  Justice  is 
informed  by  them,  and  takes  advantage  of  them  ;  but  that  is 
all.  These  documents  form,  as  it  were,  the  inner  lining  of 
the  tissue  of  crimes,  their  first  cause,  which  is  hardly  ever 
made  public.  No  jury  would  accept  it ;  and  the  whole  country 
would  rise  up  in  wrath  if  excerpts  from  those  documents  came 
out  in  the  trial  at  the  assizes.  In  fact,  it  is  the  truth  which  is 
doomed  to  remain  in  the  well,  as  it  is  everywhere  and  at  all 
times.  There  is  not  a  magistrate  who,  after  twelve  years' 
experience  in  Paris,  is  not  fully  aware  that  the  Assize  Court 
and  the  police  authorities  keep  the  secret  of  half  these  squalid 
atrocities,  or  who  does  not  admit  that  half  the  crimes  that 
are  committed  are  never  punished  by  the  law. 

If  the  public  could  know  how  reserved  the  employes  of  the 
police  are — who  do  not  forget — they  would  reverence  these 
honest  men  as  much  as  they  do  Cheverus.  The  police  is  sup- 
posed to  be  astute,  Machiavellian  ;  it  is,  in  fact,  most  benign. 
But  it  hears  every  passion  in  its  paroxysms,  it  listens  to  every 
kind  of  treachery,  and  keeps  notes  of  all.  The  police  is  terrible 
on  one  side  only.  What  it  does  for  justice  it  does  no  less  for 
political  interests ;  but  in  these  it  is  as  ruthless  and  as  one- 
sided as  the  fires  of  the  Inquisition. 

"Put  this  aside,"  said  the  lawyer,  replacing  the  notes  in 
their  cover;  "  this  is  a  secret  between  the  police  and  the  law. 
The  judge  will  estimate  its  value,  but  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Camusot  must  know  nothing  of  it." 

"  As  if  I  needed  telling  that  !  "  said  his  wife. 

"  Lucien  is  guilty,"  he  went  on  ;  "  but  of  what  ?  " 

"A  roan  who  is  the  favorite  of  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrig- 
neuse,  of  the  Comtesse  de  Serizy,  and  loved  by  Clotilde  de 
Grandlieu  is  not  guilty,"  said  Amelie.  "  The  other  man  must 
be  answerable  for  everything." 

"  But  Lucien  is  his  accomplice,"  cried  Camusot. 
23 


354  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Take  my  advice,"  said  Amelie.  "Restore  this  priest  to 
the  diplomatic  career  he  so  greatly  adorns,  exculpate  this  little 
wretch,  and  find  some  other  criminal  guilty  of  this  crime." 

"How  you  run  on!"  said  the  magistrate  with  a  smile. 
"  Women  go  to  the  point,  plunging  through  the  law  as  birds 
fly  through  the  air,  and  find  nothing  to  stop  them." 

"  But,"  said  Amelie,  "  whether  he  is  a  diplomat  or  a  con- 
vict, the  Abbe  Carlos  will  find  some  one  to  get  him  out  of  the 
scrape." 

"lam  only  a  considering  cap;  you  are  the  brain,"  said 
Camusot. 

"  Well,  the  sitting  is  closed ;  give  your  Melie  a  kiss ;  it  is 
past  one  o'clock." 

And  Mme.  Comusot  retired  to  bed,  leaving  monsieur  to 
arrange  his  papers  and  ideas  to  be  in  readiness  for  the  examina- 
tion he  was  to  make  on  the  morrow. 

And  thus,  while  the  salad-baskets  were  conveying  Jacques 
Collin  and  Lucien  to  the  Conciergerie,  the  examining  judge, 
having  breakfasted,  was  making  his  way  across  Paris  on  foot, 
after  the  unpretentious  fashion  of  Parisian  magistrates,  to  go 
to  his  chambers,  where  all  the  documents  in  the  case  were  laid 
ready  for  him. 

This  was  the  way  of  it :  Every  examining  judge  has  a  head- 
clerk,  a  sort  of  sworn  legal  secretary — a  race  that  perpetuates 
itself  without  any  premiums  or  encouragement,  producing  a 
number  of  excellent  souls  in  whom  secrecy  is  natural  and 
incorruptible.  From  the  origin  of  the  Parlement  to  the 
present  day,  no  case  has  ever  been  known  at  the  Palais  de 
Justice  of  any  gossip  or  indiscretion  on  the  part  of  a  clerk 
bound  to  the  Courts  of  Inquiry.  Gentil  sold  the  release  given 
by  Louise  of  Savoy  to  Semblancay ;  a  War  Office  clerk  sold 
the  plan  of  the  Russian  campaign  to  Czernitchef ;  and  these 
traitors  were  more  or  less  rich.  The  prospect  of  a  post  in  the 
Palais  and  professional  conscientiousness  are  enough  to  make 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  355 

a  judge's  clerk  a  successful  rival  of  the  tomb — for  the  tomb 
has  given  up  many  secrets  since  chemistry  has  made  such 
progress. 

This  official  is,  in  fact,  the  magistrate's  pen.  It  will  be 
understood  by  many  readers  that  a  man  may  gladly  be  the 
shaft  of  a  machine,  while  they  wonder  why  he  is  content  to 
remain  a  bolt ;  still  the  bolt  is  content — perhaps  the  machinery 
terrifies  him. 

Camusot's  clerk,  a  young  man  of  two-and-twenty,  named 
Coquart,  had  come  in  the  morning  to  fetch  all  the  documents 
and  the  judge's  notes,  and  laid  everything  ready  in  his  cham- 
bers, while  the  lawyer  himself  was  wandering  along  the  quays, 
looking  at  the  curiosities  in  the  stores,  and  wondering  within 
himself — 

"How  on  earth  am  I  to  set  to  work  with  such  a  clever 
rascal  as  this  Jacques  Collin,  supposing  it  is  he  ?  The  head 
of  the  Safety  will  know  him.  I  must  look  as  if  I  knew  what 
I  was  about,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  the  police  !  I  see  so  many 
insuperable  difficulties,  that  the  best  plan  would  be  to  enlighten 
the  marquise  and  the  duchess  by  showing  them  the  notes  of 
the  police,  and  I  should  avenge  my  father,  from  whom  Lucien 
stole  Coralie.  If  I  can  unveil  these  scoundrels,  my  skill  will 
be  loudly  proclaimed,  and  Lucien  will  soon  be  thrown  over 
by  his  friends.  Well,  well,  the  examination  will  settle  all 
that." 

He  turned  into  a  curiosity  store,  tempted  by  a  Boule  clock. 

"Not  to  be  false  to  my  conscience,  and  yet  to  oblige  two 
great  ladies — that  will  be  a  triumph  of  skill,"  thought  he. 
"What,  do  you  collect  coins  too,  monsieur?"  said  Camusot 
to  the  public  prosecutor,  whom  he  found  in  the  store. 

"It  is  a  taste  dear  to  all  dispensers  of  justice,"  said  the 
Comte  de  Granville,  laughing.  "They  look  at  the  reverse 
side  of  every  medal." 

And  after  looking  about  the  store  for  some  minutes,  as  if 
continuing  his  search,  he  accompanied  Camusot  on  his  way 


356  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

down  the  quay  without  its  ever  occurring  to  Camusot  that 
anything  but  chance  had  brought  them  together. 

"You  are  examining  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  this  morning," 
said  the  public  prosecutor.  "Poor  fellow — I  liked  him." 

"  There  are  several  charges  against  him,"  said  Camusot, 
deferentially. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  the  police  papers ;  but  some  of  the  information 
came  from  an  agent  who  is  independent  of  the  office,  the 
notorious  Corentin,  who  has  caused  the  death  of  more  inno- 
cent :men  than  you  will  ever  send  guilty  men  to  the  scaffold, 

and But  that  rascal  is  out  of  your  reach.  Without  trying 

to  influence  the  conscience  of  such  a  magistrate  as  yourself,  I 
may  point  out  to  you  that  if  you  could  be  perfectly  sure  that 
Lucien  was  ignorant  of  the  contents  of  that  woman's  will,  it 
would  be  self-evident  that  he  had  no  interest  in  her  death,  for 
she  gave  him  enormous  sums  of  money." 

"  We  can  prove  his  absence  at  the  time  when  this  Esther 
was  poisoned,"  said  Camusot.  "  He  was  at  Fontainebleau, 
on  the  watch  for  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu  and  the  Duchesse 
de  Lenoncourt." 

"And  he  still  cherished  such  hopes  of  marrying  Made- 
moiselle de  Grandlieu,"  said  the  public  prosecutor — "I  have 
it  from  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu  herself — that  it  is  inconceiv- 
able that  such  a  clever  young  fellow  should  compromise  his 
chances  by  a  perfectly  aimless  crime." 

"Yes,"  said  Camusot,  "especially  if  Esther  gave  him  all 
she  got." 

"  Derville  and  Nucingen  both  say  that  she  died  in  ignorance 
of  the  inheritance  she  had  long  since  come  into,"  added 
Granville. 

"  But  then  what  do  you  suppose  is  the  meaning  of  it  all  ?  " 
asked  Camusot.  "For  there  is  something  at  the  bottom 
of  it." 

"A  crime  committed  by  some  servant,"  said  the  public 
prosecutor. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  357 

" Unfortunately,"  remarked  Camusot,  "it  is  more  in  the 
line  of  Jacques  Collin — for  the  Spanish  priest  is  certainly 
none  other  than  that  escaped  convict — to  have  taken  posses- 
sion of  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  derived 
from  the  sale  of  the  certificate  of  shares  given  to  Esther  by 
Nucingen." 

"  Weigh  everything  with  care,  my  dear  Camusot.  Be  pru- 
dent. The  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera  has  diplomatic  connections ; 
still,  an  envoy  who  had  committed  a  crime  would  not  be 
sheltered  by  his  position.  Is  he  or  is  he  not  the  Abbe  Carlos 
Herrera?  That  is  the  whole  question." 

And  Monsieur  de  Granville  bowed,  and  turned  away,  as 
requiring  no  answer. 

"So  he  too  wants  to  save  Lucien  !  "  thought  Camusot, 
going  on  by  the  Quai  des  Lunettes,  while  the  public  prose- 
cutor entered  the  Palais  through  the  Harlay  courtyard. 

On  reaching  the  courtyard  of  the  Conciergerie,  Camusot 
went  to  the  governor's  room  and  led  him  into  the  middle  of 
the  pavement,  where  no  one  could  overhear  them. 

"  My  dear  sir,  do  me  the  favor  of  going  to  La  Force,  and 
inquiring  of  your  colleague  there  whether  he  happens  at  this 
moment  to  have  there  any  convicts  who  were  on  the  hulks  at 
Toulon  between  1810  and  1815  ;  or  have  you  any  imprisoned 
here  ?  We  will  transfer  those  of  La  Force  here  for  a  few  days, 
and  you  will  let  me  know  whether  this  so-called  Spanish 
priest  is  known  to  them  as  Jacques  Collin,  otherwise  Trompe- 
la-Mort." 

"Very   good,    Monsieur    Camusot.      But    Bibi-Lupin    is 

» 
come 

"What,  already?"  said  the  judge. 

"  He  was  at  Melun.  He  was  told  that  Trompe-la-Mort 
had  to  be  identified,  and  he  smiled  with  joy.  He  awaits 
your  orders." 

"Send  him  to  me." 

The  governor  was  then  able  to  lay  before  Monsieur  Camusot 


358  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Jacques  Collin's  request,  and  he  described  the  man's  deplor- 
able condition. 

"I  intended  to  examine  him  first,"  replied  the  magistrate, 
"but  not  on  account  of  his  health.  I  received  a  note  this 
morning  from  the  governor  of  La  Force.  Well,  this  rascal, 
who  described  himself  to  you  as  having  been  dying  for  twenty- 
four  hours  past,  slept  so  soundly  that  they  went  into  his  cell 
there,  with  the  doctor  for  whom  the  governor  had  sent,  with- 
out his  hearing  them ;  the  doctor  did  not  even  feel  his  pulse, 
he  left  him  to  sleep — which  proves,  perhaps,  that  his  conscience 
is  as  sound  as  his  health.  I  shall  accept  this  feigned  illness 
only  so  far  as  it  may  enable  me  to  study  my  man,"  added 
Monsieur  Camusot,  smiling. 

"  We  live  to  learn  every  day  with  these  various  grades  of 
prisoners,"  said  the  governor  of  the  prison. 

The  prefecture  of  police  adjoins  the  Conciergerie,  and  the 
magistrates,  like  the  governor,  knowing  all  the  subterranean 
passages,  can  get  to  and  fro  with  the  greatest  rapidity.  This 
explains  the  miraculous  ease  with  which  information  can  be 
conveyed,  during  the  sitting  of  the  Courts,  to  the  officials  and 
the  presidents  of  the  Assize  Courts.*  And  by  the  time  Mon- 
sieur Camusot  had  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs  leading  to  his 
chambers,  Bibi-Lupin  was  there  too,  having  come  by  the  Salle 
des  Pas-Perdus. 

"What  zeal !  "  said  Camusot,  with  a  smile. 

"Ah,  well,  you  see  if  it  is  he"  replied  the  man,  "  you  will 
see  great  fun  in  the  prison-yard  if  by  chance  there  are  any 
old  stagers  here." 

"Why?" 

"  Trompe-la-Mort  filched  their  chips,  and  I  know  that  they 
have  vowed  to  be  the  death  of  him." 

They  meant  the  convicts  whose  money,  intrusted  to  Trompe- 
la-Mort,  had  all  been  made  away  with  by  him  for  Lucien,  as 
has  been  told. 

*  The  assizes  are  periodical  criminal  tribunals. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  359 

"  Could  you  lay  your  hand  on  the  witnesses  of  his  former 
arrest?" 

"  Give  me  two  summonses  of  witnesses,  and  I  will  find  you 
some  to-day." 

"  Coquart,"  said  the  lawyer,  as  he  took  off  his  gloves,  and 
placed  his  hat  and  stick  in  a  corner,  "fill  up  two  summonses 
by  monsieur's  directions." 

He  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass  over  the  mantel-shelf, 
where  stood,  in  the  place  of  a  clock,  a  basin  and  jug.  On 
one  side  was  a  bottle  of  water  and  a  glass,  on  the  other  a 
lamp.  He  rang  the  bell ;  his  usher  came  in  a  few  minutes 
after. 

"Is  anybody  here  for  me  yet?"  he  asked  the  man,  whose 
business  it  was  to  receive  the  witnesses,  to  verify  their  sum- 
mons, and  to  set  them  in  the  order  of  their  arrival. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Take  their  names,  and  bring  me  the  list." 

The  examining  judges,  to  save  time,  are  often  obliged  to 
carry  on  several  inquiries  at  once.  Hence  the  long  waiting 
inflicted  on  the  witnesses,  who  have  seats  in  the  ushers'  hall, 
where  the  judges'  bells  are  constantly  ringing. 

"And  then,"  Camusot  went  on,  "bring  up  the  Abbe 
Carlos  Herrera." 

"Ah,  ha !  I  was  told  that  he  was  a  priest  and  a  Spaniard. 
Pooh!  It  is  a  new  edition  of  Collet,  Monsieur  Camusot," 
said  the  head  of  the  Safety  Department. 

"There  is  nothing  new  !  "  replied  Camusot. 

And  he  signed  the  two  formidable  documents  which  alarm 
everybody,  even  the  most  innocent  witnesses,  whom  the  law 
thus  requires  to  appear,  under  severe  penalties  in  case  of 
failure. 

By  this  time  Jacques  Collin  had,  about  half  an  hour  since, 
finished  his  deep  meditations,  and  was  armed  for  the  fray. 
Nothing  is  more  perfectly  characteristic  of  this  type  of  the 


360  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

mob  in  rebellion  against  the  law  than  the  few  words  he  had 
written  on  the  greasy  scraps  of  paper. 

The  sense  of  the  first — for  it  was  written  in  the  language, 
the  very  slang  of  slang,  agreed  upon  by  Asia  and  himself,  a 
cypher  of  words — was  as  follows  : 

"Go  to  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  or  Madame  de 
Serizy :  one  of  them  must  see  Lucien  before  he  is  examined, 
and  give  him  the  inclosed  paper  to  read.  Then  find  Europe 
and  Paccard ;  those  two  thieves  must  be  at  my  orders,  and 
ready  to  play  any  part  I  may  set  them. 

"Go  to  Rastignac;  tell  him,  from  the  man  he  met  at  the 
opera-ball,  to  come  and  swear  that  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera 
has  no  resemblance  to  Jacques  Coll  in  who  was  apprehended 
at  Vauquer's.  Do  the  same  with  Dr.  Bianchon,  and  get 
Lucien's  two  women  to  work  to  the  same  end." 

On  the  inclosed  fragment  were  these  words  in  good  French : 

"  Lucien,  confess  nothing  about  me.  I  am  the  Abbe  Carlos 
Herrera.  Not  only  will  this  be  your  exculpation ;  but,  if  you 
do  not  lose  your  head,  you  will  have  seven  millions  and  your 
honor  cleared." 

These  two  bits  of  paper,  gummed  on  the  written  side  so  as 
to  look  like  one  piece,  were  then  rolled  tightly,  with  a  dex- 
terity peculiar  to  men  who  have  dreamed  of  getting  free  from 
the  hulks.  The  whole  thing  assumed  the  shape  and  consist- 
ency of  a  ball  of  dirty  rubbish,  about  as  big  as  the  sealing-wax 
heads  which  thrifty  women,  to  make  a  pin,  stick  on  the  head 
of  a  large  needle  when  the  eye  is  broken. 

"  If  I  am  examined  first,  we  are  saved ;  if  it  is  the  boy,  all 
is  lost,"  said  he  to  himself,  while  he  waited. 

His  plight  was  so  sore  that  the  strong  man's  face  was  cov- 
ered with  a  white  sweat.  Indeed,  this  wonderful  man  saw  as 
clearly  in  his  sphere  of  crime  as  Moliere  did  in  his  sphere  of 
dramatic  poetry,  or  Cuvier  in  that  of  extinct  organisms. 
Genius  of  whatever  kind  is  intuition.  Below  this  highest 
manifestation  other  remarkable  achievements  may  be  due  to 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  361 

talent.  This  is  what  divides  men  of  the  first  rank  from  those 
of  the  second. 

Crime  has  its  men  of  genius.  Jacques  Collin,  driven  to 
bay,  had  hit  on  the  same  notion  as  Madame  Camusot's  ambi- 
tion and  Madame  de  Serizy's  passion,  suddenly  revived  by  the 
shock  of  the  dreadful  disaster  which  was  overwhelming  Lucien. 
Thus  was  the  supreme  effort  of  human  intellect  directed  against 
the  steel  armor  of  Justice. 

On  hearing  the  rasping  of  the  heavy  locks  and  bolts  of  his 
door,  Jacques  Collin  resumed  his  mask  of  a  dying  man ;  he 
was  helped  in  this  by  the  intoxicating  joy  that  he  felt  at  the 
sound  of  the  warder's  shoes  in  the  passage.  He  had  no  idea 
how  Asia  would  get  near  him ;  but  he  relied  on  meeting  her 
on  the  way,  especially  after  her  promise  given  in  the  Saint- 
Jean  gateway. 

After  that  fortunate  achievement  she  had  gone  on  to  the 
Place  de  Greve. 

Till  1830  the  name  of  La  Greve  (the  Strand)  had  a  mean- 
ing that  is  now  lost.  Every  part  of  the  rivershore  from  the 
Pont  d'Arcole  to  the  Pont  Louis-Philippe  was  then  as  nature 
had  made  it,  excepting  the  paved  way  which  was  at  the  top 
of  the  bank.  When  the  river  was  in  flood  a  boat  could  pass 
close  under  the  houses  and  at  the  end  of  the  streets  running 
down  to  the  river.  On  the  quay  the  footpath  was  for  the  most 
part  raised  with  a  few  steps ;  and  when  the  river  was  up  to 
the  houses,  vehicles  had  to  pass  along  the  horrible  Rue  de  la 
Mortellerie,  which  has  now  been  completely  removed  to  make 
room  for  enlarging  the  Hotel  de  Ville.* 

So  the  sham  huckster  could  easily  and  quickly  run  her  truck 
down  to  the  bottom  of  the  quay,  and  hide  it  there  till  the  real 
owner — who  was,  in  fact,  drinking  the  price  of  her  wares,  sold 
bodily  to  Asia,  in  one  of  the  abominable  taverns  in  the  Rue 
de  la  Mortellerie — should  return  to  claim  it.  At  that  time 
the  Quai  Pelletier  was  being  extended,  the  entrance  to  the 
*  City  Hall  or  Court  House. 


362  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

works  was  guarded  by  a  crippled  soldier,  and  the  push-cart 
would  be  quite  safe  in  his  keeping. 

Asia  then  jumped  into  a  hack  in  the  Place  de  1' Hotel  de 
Ville,  and  said  to  the  driver,  "To  the  Temple,  and  look 
sharp,  I'll  tip  you  well."  * 

A  woman  dressed  like  Asia  could  disappear,  without  any 
questions  being  asked,  in  the  huge  market-place,  where  all 
the  rags  in  Paris  are  gathered  together,  where  a  thousand 
hucksters  wander  round,  and  two  hundred  old-clothes  sellers 
are  chaffering. 

The  two  prisoners  had  hardly  been  locked  up  when  she  was 
dressing  herself  in  a  low,  damp  entresol  over  one  of  those  foul 
stores  where  remnants  are  sold,  pieces  stolen  by  tailors  and 
dressmakers — an  establishment  kept  by  an  old  maid  known  as 
La  Romette,  from  her  Christian  name  Jeromette.  La  Romette 
was  to  the  "  purchasers  of  wardrobes  "  what  these  women  are 
to  the  better  class  of  so-called  ladies  in  difficulties — Madame 
la  Ressource — that  is  to  say,  money-lenders  at  a  hundred  per 
cent. 

"Now,  child,"  said  Asia,  "I  have  got  to  be  figged  out. 
I  must  be  a  baroness  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  at  the 
very  least.  And  sharp's  the  word,  for  my  feet  are  in  hot  oil. 
You  know  what  gowns  suit  me.  Hand  up  the  rouge-pot,  find 
me  some  first-class  bits  of  lace,  and  the  swaggerest  jewelry  you 
can  pick  out.  Send  the  girl  to  call  a  coach,  and  have  it 
brought  to  the  back  door." 

"Yes,  madame,"  the  woman  replied  very  humbly,  and 
with  the  eagerness  of  a  maid  waiting  on  her  mistress. 

If  there  had  been  any  one  to  witness  the  scene,  he  would 
have  understood  that  the  woman  known  as  Asia  was  proprietor 
here. 

"  I  have  had  some  diamonds  offered  me,"  said  la  Romette, 
as  she  dressed  Asia's  head. 

"Stolen?" 

*  //  y  a  gras — there's  fat  in  it. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  363 

" I  think  so." 

"  Well,  then,  however  cheap  they  may  be,  we  must  do 
without  'em.  We  must  fight  shy  of  the  coppers  for  a  long 
time  to  come." 

It  will  now  be  understood  how  Asia  contrived  to  be  in  the 
Salle  des  Pas-Perdus  of  the  Palais  de  Justice  with  a  summons 
in  her  hand,  asking  her  way  along  the  passages  and  stairs 
leading  to  the  examining  judge's  chambers,  and  inquiring  for 
Monsieur  Camusot,  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  that 
gentleman's  arrival. 

Asia  was  not  recognizable.  After  washing  off  her  "  make- 
up" as  an  old  woman,  like  an  actress,  she  applied  rouge  and 
pearl  powder,  and  covered  her  head  with  a  well-made  fair  wig. 
Dressed  exactly  as  a  lady  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain 
might  be  if  in  search  of  a  dog  she  had  lost,  she  looked  about 
forty,  for  she  shrouded  her  features  under  a  splendid  black 
lace  veil.  A  corset,  severely  laced,  disguised  her  cook's  figure. 
With  very  good  gloves  and  a  rather  large  bustle,  she  exhaled 
the  agreeable  perfumes  of  Marechale  powder.  Dangling  a  bag 
mounted  in  gold,  she  divided  her  attention  between  the  walls 
of  the  building,  where  she  found  herself  evidently  for  the  first 
time,  and  the  string  by  which  she  led  a  dainty  little  spaniel. 
Such  a  dowager  could  not  fail  to  attract  the  notice  of  the 
black-robed  natives  of  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus. 

Beside  the  briefless  barristers  who  sweep  this  hall  with  their 
gowns,  and  who  speak  of  the  leading  advocates  by  their 
Christian  names,  as  fine  gentlemen  address  each  other,  to 
produce  the  impression  that  they  are  of  the  aristocracy  of  the 
law,  patient  youths  are  often  to  be  seen,  hangers-on  of  the 
attorneys,  waiting,  waiting,  in  hope  of  a  case  put  down  for1 
the  end  of  the  day,  which  they  may  be  so  lucky  as  to  be  called 
to  plead  if  the  advocates  retained  for  the  earlier  cases  should 
not  come  out  in  time. 

A  very  curious  study  would  be  that  of  the  differences  be- 
tween these  various  black  gowns,  pacing  the  immense  hall  in 


364  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

threes,  or  sometimes  in  fours,  their  persistent  talk  filling  the 
place  with  a  loud,  echoing  hum — a  hall  well  named  indeed, 
for  this  slow  walk  exhausts  the  lawyers  as  much  as  the  waste 
of  words.  But  such  a  study  has  its  place  in  the  volumes  des- 
tined to  reveal  the  life  of  Paris  pleaders. 

Asia  had  counted  on  the  presence  of  these  youths;  she 
laughed  in  her  sleeve  at  some  of  the  pleasantries  she  over- 
heard, and  finally  succeeded  in  attracting  the  attention  of 
Massol,  a  young  lawyer  whose  time  was  more  taken  up  by  the 
"Police  Gazette"  than  by  searching  for  clients,  and  who 
came  up  with  a  laugh  to  place  himself  at  the  service  of  a 
woman  so  elegantly  scented  and  so  handsomely  dressed. 

Asia  put  on  a  little,  thin  voice  to  explain  to  this  obliging 
gentleman  that  she  appeared  in  answer  to  a  summons  from  a 
judge  named  Camusot. 

"  Oh  !  in  the  Rubempre  case?  " 

The  affair  had  its  name  already. 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  my  affair.  It  is  my  maid's,  a  girl  named 
Europe,  who  was  with  me  twenty-four  hours,  and  who  fled 
when  she  saw  my  servant  bring  in  a  piece  of  stamped  paper." 

Then,  like  any  old  woman  who  spends  her  life  gossiping  in 
the  chimney-corner,  prompted  by  Massol,  she  poured  out  the 
story  of  her  woes  with  her  first  husband,  one  of  the  three 
directors  of  the  land  revenue.  She  consulted  the  young  lawyer 
as  to  whether  she  would  do  well  to  enter  on  a  lawsuit  with  her 
son-in-law,  the  Comte  de  Gross-Narp,  who  made  her  daughter 
very  miserable,  and  whether  the  law  allowed  her  to  dispose  of 
her  fortune. 

In  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  Massol  could  not  be  sure  whether 
the  summons  were  addressed  to  the  mistress  or  the  maid.  At 
the  first  moment  he  had  only  glanced  at  this  legal  document 
of  most  familiar  aspect;  for,  to  save  time,  it  is  printed,  and 
the  magistrates'  clerks  have  only  to  fill  in  Jhe  blanks  left  for 
the  names  and  addresses  of  the  fitnesses,  the  hour  for  which 
they  are  called,  and  so  forth. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  365 

Asia  made  him  tell  her  all  about  the  Palais,  which  she  knew 
more  intimately  than  the  lawyer  did.  Finally,  she  inquired 
at  what  hour  Monsieur  Camusot  would  arrive. 

"  Well,  the  examining  judges  generally  are  here  by  about 
ten  o'clock." 

"It  is  now  a  quarter  to  ten,"  said  she,  looking  at  a  pretty 
little  watch,  a  perfect  gem  of  goldsmith's  work,  which  made 
Massol  say  to  himself — 

"  Where  the  devil  will  Fortune  make  herself  at  home  next ! " 

At  this  moment  Asia  had  come  to  the  dark  hall  looking  out 
on  the  yard  of  the  Conciergerie,  where  the  ushers  wait.  On 
seeing  the  gate  through  the  window,  she  exclaimed — 

"  What  are  those  high  walls?  " 

"That  is  the  Conciergerie." 

"  Oh!  so  that  is  the  Conciergerie  where  our  poor  Queen 

Oh  !  I  should  so  like  to  see  her  cell !  " 

"Impossible,  Madame  la  Baronne,"  replied  the  young 
lawyer,  on  whose  arm  the  dowager  was  now  leaning.  "  A 
permit  is  indispensable,  and  very  difficult  to  procure." 

"I  have  been  told,"  she  went  on,  "that  Louis  XVIII. 
himself  composed  the  inscription  that  is  to  be  seen  in  Marie- 
Antoinette's  cell." 

"Yes,  Madame  la  Baronne." 

"  How  much  I  should  like  to  know  Latin  that  I  might  study 
the  words  of  that  inscription  !  "  said  she.  "  Do  you  think 
that  Monsieur  Camusot  could  give  me  a  permit?" 

"That  is  not  in  his  power;  but  he  could  take  you  there." 

"But  his  business "  objected  she. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Massol,  "prisoners  under  suspicion  can  wait." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  she  artlessly,  "they  are  under  sus- 
picion. But  I  know  Monsieur  de  Granville,  your  public  prose- 
cutor  " 

This  hint  had  a  magical  effect  on  the  ushers  and  the  young 
lawyer. 

"Ah,  you  know  Monsieur  de  Granville?"  said  Massol,  who 


366  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

was  inclined  to  ask  the  client  thus  sent  him  by  chance  her 
name  and  address. 

"I  often  see  him  at  my  friend  Monsieur  de  Serizy's  house. 
Madame  de  Serizy  is  a  connection  of  mine  through  the  Ron- 
querolles." 

"  Well,  if  madame  wishes  to  go  down  to  the  Conciergerie," 
said  an  usher,  "she ' 

"Yes,"  said  Massol. 

So  the  baroness  and  the  lawyer  were  allowed  to  pass,  and 
they  presently  found  themselves  in  the  little  guard-room  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs  leading  to  the  mousetrap,  a  spot  well  known 
to  Asia,  forming,  as  has  been  said,  a  post  of  observation 
between  those  cells  and  the  Court  of  the  Sixth  Chamber, 
through  which  everybody  is  obliged  to  pass. 

"Will  you  ask  if  Monsieur  Camusot  is  come  yet?"  said 
she,  seeing  some  gendarmes  playing  cards. 

"Yes,  madame,  he  has  just  come  up  from  the  mousetrap." 

"  The  mousetrap  !  "  said  she.  "  What  is  that  ?  Oh  !  how 
stupid  of  me  not  to  have  gone  straight  to  the  Comte  de  Gran- 
ville.  But  I  have  not  time  now.  Pray  take  me  to  speak  to 
Monsieur  Camusot  before  he  is  otherwise  engaged." 

"  Oh,  you  have  plenty  of  time  for  seeing  Monsieur  Camu- 
sot," said  Massol.  "If  you  send  him  in  your  card,  he  will 
spare  you  the  discomfort  of  waiting  in  the  anteroom  with  the 
witnesses.  We  can  be  civil  here  to  ladies  like  you.  You  have 
a  card  about  you  ? ' ' 

At  this  instant  Asia  and  her  lawyer  were  exactly  in  front  of 
the  window  of  the  guard-room  whence  the  gendarmes  could 
observe  the  gate  of  the  Conciergerie.  The  gendarmes, 
brought  up  to  respect  the  defenders  of  the  widow  and  the 
orphan,  were  aware,  too,  of  the  prerogative  of  the  gown,  and 
for  a  few  minutes  allowed  the  baroness  to  remain  there  escorted 
by  a  pleader.  Asia  listened  to  the  terrible  tales  which  a 
young  lawyer  is  ready  to  tell  about  that  prison-gate.  She 
would  not  believe  that  those  who  were  condemned  to  death 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  367 

were  prepared  for  the  scaffold  behind  those  bars ;  but  the  ser- 
geant-at-arms  assured  her  it  was  so. 

"  How  much  I  should  like  to  see  it  done  !  "  cried  she. 

And  there  she  remained,  prattling  to  the  lawyer  and  the 
sergeant,  till  she  saw  Jacques  Collin  come  out  supported  by 
two  gendarmes,  and  preceded  by  Monsieur  Camusot's  clerk. 

"Ah,  there  is  a  chaplain  no  doubt  going  to  prepare  a  poor 
wretch " 

"Not  at  all,  Madame  la  Baronne,"  said  the  gendarme. 
"  He  is  a  prisoner  coming  to  be  examined." 

"  Of  what  is  he  accused  ?  " 

"  He  is  implicated  in  a  poisoning  case." 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  to  see  him." 

"You  cannot  stay  here,"  said  the  sergeant,  "for  he  is 
under  close  arrest,  and  he  must  pass  through  here.  You  see, 
madame,  that  door  leads  to  the  stairs " 

"Oh!  thank  you!"  cried  the  baroness,  making  for  the 
door,  to  rush  down  the  stairs,  where  she  at  once  shrieked  out : 
"Oh!  whereaml!" 

This  cry  reached  the  ear  of  Jacques  Collin,  who  was  thus 
prepared  to  see  her.  The  sergeant  flew  after  Madame  la  Ba- 
ronne, seized  her  by  the  middle,  and  lifted  her  back  like  a 
feather  into  the  midst  of  a  group  of  five  gendarmes,  who 
started  up  as  one  man ;  for  in  that  guard-room  everything  is 
regarded  as  suspicious.  The  proceeding  was  arbitrary,  but 
the  arbitrariness  was  necessary.  The  young  lawyer  himself 
had  cried  out  twice:  "Madame!  Madame!"  in  his  fright, 
so  much  did  he  fear  finding  himself  in  the  wrong. 

The  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera,  half  fainting,  sank  on  a  chair  in 
the  guard-room. 

"Poor  man!"  said  the  baroness.  "Can  he  be  a  crim- 
inal?" 

The  words,  though  spoken  low  to  the  young  advocate,  could 
be  heard  by  all,  for  the  silence  of  death  reigned  in  that  terrible 
guard-room.  Certain  privileged  persons  are  sometimes  allowed 


368  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

to  see  famous  criminals  on  their  way  through  this  room  or 
through  the  passages,  so  that  the  clerk  and  the  gendarmes  who 
had  charge  of  the  Abbe  Carlos  made  no  remark.  Also,  in 
consequence  of  the  devoted  zeal  of  the  sergeant  who  had 
snatched  up  the  baroness  to  hinder  any  communication  be- 
tween the  prisoner  and  the  visitors,  there  was  a  considerable 
space  between  them. 

"Let  us  go  on,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  making  an  effort  to 
rise. 

At  the  same  moment  the  little  ball  rolled  out  of  his  sleeve, 
and  the  spot  where  it  fell  was  noted  by  the  baroness,  who 
could  look  about  her  freely  from  under  her  veil.  The  little 
pellet,  being  damp  and  sticky,  did  not  roll ;  for  such  trivial 
details,  apparently  unimportant,  had  all  been  duly  considered 
by  Jacques  Collin  to  ensure  success. 

When  the  prisoner  had  been  led  up  the  higher  part  of  the 
steps,  Asia  very  unaffectedly  dropped  her  bag  and  picked  it  up 
again  ;  but,  in  stooping,  she  seized  the  pellet  which  had  escaped 
notice,  its  color  being  exactly  like  that  of  the  dust  and  mud 
on  the  floor. 

"Oh  dear!"  cried  she,  "it  goes  to  my  heart!  He  is 
dying " 

"Or  seems  to  be,"  replied  the  sergeant. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Asia  to  the  lawyer,  "  take  me  at  once  to 
Monsieur  Camusot ;  I  have  come  about  this  case ;  and  he 
might  be  very  glad  to  see  me  before  examining  that  poor 
priest." 

The  lawyer  and  the  baroness  left  the  guard-room,  with  its 
greasy,  fuliginous  walls ;  but  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  top 
of  the  stairs,  Asia  exclaimed — 

"  Oh,  and  my  dog  !  My  poor  little  dog  !  "  and  she  rushed 
off  like  a  mad  creature  down  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus,  asking 
every  one  where  her  dog  was.  She  got  to- the  corridor  beyond 
(la  Galerie  Marchande,  or  Merchants'  Hall,  as  it  is  called), 
and  flew  to  the  staircase,  saying  :  "  There  he  is  !  " 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  369 

These  stairs  lead  to  the  Cour  de  Harlay,  through  which 
Asia,  having  played  out  the  farce,  passed  out  and  took  a 
hackney-coach  on  the  Quai  des  Orfevres,  where  there  is  a 
stand;  thus  she  vanished  with  the  summons  requiring 
"Europe"  to  appear,  her  real  name  being  unknown  to  the 
police  and  the  lawyers. 

"Rue  Neuve-Saint-Marc,"  cried  she  to  the  driver. 

Asia  could  depend  on  the  absolute  secrecy  of  an  old-clothes 
purchaser,  known  as  Madame  Nourrisson,*  who  also  called 
herself  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve ;  and  who  would  lend  Asia 
not  merely  her  personality,  but  her  store  at  need,  for  it  was 
there  that  Nucingen  had  bargained  for  the  surrender  of  Esther. 
Asia  was  quite  at  home  there,  for  she  had  a  bedroom  in 
Madame  Nourrisson's  establishment. 

She  paid  the  driver,  and  went  up  to  her  room,  nodding  to 
Madame  Nourrisson  in  a  way  to  make  her  understand  that  she 
had  not  time  to  say  two  words  to  her. 

As  soon  as  she  was  safe  from  observation,  Asia  unwrapped 
the  papers  with  the  care  of  a  savant  unrolling  a  palimpsest. 
After  reading  the  instructions,  she  thought  it  wise  to  copy  the 
lines  intended  for  Lucien  on  a  sheet  of  letter-paper ;  then  she 
went  down  to  Madame  Nourrisson,  to  whom  she  talked  while 
a  little  store-girl  went  to  fetch  a  coach  from  the  Boulevard  des 
Italiens.  She  thus  extracted  the  addresses  of  the  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse  and  of  Madame  de  Serizy,  which  were 
known  to  Madame  Nourrisson  by  her  dealings  with  their 
maids. 

All  this  running  about  and  elaborate  business  took  up  more 
than  two  hours.  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  who 
lived  at  the  top  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Honore,  kept  -Madame 
de  Saint-Esteve  waiting  an  hour,  although  the  lady's-maid, 
after  knocking  at  the  boudoir  door,  had  handed  into  her 
mistress  a  card  with  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve's  name  on 

*  See  "  The  Unconscious  Mummers." 
24 


370  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

which  Asia  had  written,  "  Called  about  pressing  business 
concerning  Lucien." 

Her  first  glance  at  the  duchess'  face  showed  her  how  ill- 
timed  her  visit  must  be  ;  she  apologized  for  disturbing  Madame 
la  Duchesse  when  she  was  resting,  on  the  plea  of  the  danger 
in  which  Lucien  stood. 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  the  duchess,  without  any  pretense 
at  politeness,  as  she  looked  at  Asia  from  head  to  foot ;  for 
Asia,  though  she  might  be  taken  for  a  baroness  by  Maitre 
Massol  in  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus,  when  she  stood  on  the 
carpet  in  the  boudoir  of  the  Hotel  de  Cadignan,  looked  like 
a  splash  of  mud  on  a  white  satin  gown. 

"I  am  a  dealer  in  cast-off  clothes,  Madame  la  Duchesse; 
for  in  such  matters  every  lady  applies  to  women  whose  busi- 
ness rests  on  a  basis  of  perfect  secrecy.  I  have  never  betrayed 
anybody,  though  God  knows  how  many  great  ladies  have 
intrusted  their  diamonds  to  me  by  the  month  while  wearing 
false  jewels  made  to  imitate  them  exactly." 

"You  have  some  other  name?"  said  the  duchess,  smiling 
at  a  reminiscence  recalled  to  her  by  this  reply. 

"Yes,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  I  am  Madame  de  Saint- 
Esteve  on  great  occasions,  but  in  the  trade  I  am  Madame 
Nourrisson." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  duchess  in  an  altered  tone. 

"I  am  able  to  be  of  great  service,"  Asia  went  on,  "for 
we  hear  the  husbands'  secrets  as  well  as  the  wives'.  I  have 
done  many  little  jobs  for  Monsieur  de  Marsay,  whom  Madame 
la  Duchesse " 

"  That  will  do,  that  will  do  !  "  cried  the  duchess.  "  What 
about  Lucien?" 

"  If  you  wish  to  save  him,  madame,  you  must  have  courage 
enough  to  lose  no  time  in  dressing.  But,  indeed,  Madame 
la  Duchesse,  you  could  not  look  more  charming  than  you  do  at 
this  moment.  You  are  sweet  enough  to  charm  anybody,  take 
an  old  woman's  word  for  it  !  In  short,  madame,  do  not  wait 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  371 

for  your  carriage,  but  get  into  my  hackney-coach.  Come  to 
Madame  de  Serizy's  if  you  hope  to  avert  worse  misfortunes 
than  the  death  of  that  cherub " 

"Go  on,  I  will  follow  you,"  said  the  duchess  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation.  "  Between  us  we  may  give  Leontine  some 
courage." 

Notwithstanding  the  really  demoniacal  activity  of  this 
Dorine  of  the  hulks,  the  clock  was  striking  two  when  she 
and  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  went  into  the  Comtesse 
de  Serizy's  house  in  the  Rue  de  la  Chaussee-d'Antin.  Once 
there,  thanks  to  the  duchess,  not  an  instant  was  lost.  The  two 
women  were  at  once  shown  up  to  the  countess,  whom  they 
found  reclining  on  a  couch  in  a  miniature  chalet,  surrounded 
by  a  garden  fragrant  with  the  rarest  flowers. 

"That  is  well,"  said  Asia,  looking  about  her.  "No  one 
can  overhear  us." 

"  Oh  !  my  dear,  I  am  half  dead  !  Tell  me,  Diane,  what 
have  you  done?"  cried  the  countess,  starting  up  like  a  fawn, 
and,  seizing  the  duchess  by  the  shoulders,  she  melted  into 
tears. 

"  Come,  come,  Leontine ;  there  are  occasions  when  women 
like  us  must  not  cry,  but  act,"  said  the  duchess,  forcing  the 
countess  to  sit  down  on  the  sofa  by  her  side. 

Asia  studied  the  countess'  face  with  the  scrutiny  peculiar 
to  those  old  hands,  which  pierces  to  the  soul  of  a  woman  as 
certainly  as  a  surgeon's  instrument  probes  a  wound  !  Jacques 
Collin's  ally  at  once  discerned  the  stamp  of  one  of  the  rarest 
feelings  in  a  woman  of  the  world:  real  sorrow! — the  sorrow 
that  graves  ineradicable  lines  on  the  heart  and  on  the  features. 
She  was  dressed  without  the  least  touch  of  vanity.  She  was 
now  forty-five,  and  her  printed  lawn  wrapper,  tumbled  and 
untidy,  showed  her  bosom  without  any  art  or  even  the  sup- 
port of  a  corset !  Her  eyes  were  set  in  dark  circles,  and  her 
mottled  cheeks  showed  the  traces  of  bitter  tears.  She  wore 
no  sash  round  her  waist ;  the  embroidery  on  her  petticoat  and 


872  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

chemise  were  all  crumpled.  Her  hair,  knotted  up  under  a 
lace  cap,  had  not  been  combed  for  four-and-twenty  hours,  and 
showed  as  a  thin,  short  plait  and  ragged  little  curls.  Leon- 
tine  had  forgotten  to  put  on  her  false  hair. 

"You  are  in  love  for  the  first  time  in  your  life?"  said  Asia 
sententiously. 

Leontine  then  saw  the  woman,  and  started  with  uncon- 
cealed horror. 

"  Who  is  that,  my  dear  Diane  ?"  she  asked  of  the  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse. 

"  Whom  should  I  bring  with  me  but  a  woman  who  is  de- 
voted to  Lucien  and  willing  to  help  us?" 

Asia  had  hit  the  truth.  Madame  de  Serizy,  who  was  re- 
garded as  one  of  the  most  fickle  of  fashionable  women,  had 
had  an  attachment  of  ten  years'  standing  for  the  Marquis 
d'Aiglemont.  Since  the  marquis'  departure  for  the  colonies, 
she  had  gone  wild  about  Lucien,  and  had  won  him  from  the 
Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  knowing  nothing — like  the  Paris 
world  generally — of  Lucien's  passion  for  Esther.  In  the 
world  of  passion  a  recognized  attachment  does  more  to  ruin  a 
woman's  reputation  than  ten  unconfessed  liaisons ;  how  much 
more  then  two  such  attachments.  However,  as  no  one  thought 
of  Madame  de  Serizy  as  a  responsible  person,  the  historian 
cannot  undertake  to  speak  for  her  virtue  thus  doubly  dog's- 
eared. 

She  was  fair,  of  medium  height,  and  well  preserved,  as  a 
fair  woman  can  be  who  is  well  preserved  at  all ;  that  is  to  say, 
she  did  not  look  more  than  thirty,  being  slender,  but  not  lean, 
with  a  white  skin  and  flaxen  hair ;  she  had  hands,  feet,  and  a 
shape  of  aristocratic  elegance,  and  was  as  witty  as  all  the  Ron- 
querolles,  spiteful,  therefore,  to  women,  and  good-natured  to 
men.  Her  large  fortune,  her  husband's  fine  position,  and 
that  of  her  brother,  the  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles,  had  pro- 
tected her  from  the  mortifications  with  which  any  other 
woman  would  have  been  overwhelmed.  She  had  this  great 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  373 

merit — that  she  was  honest  in  her  depravity,  and  confessed 
her  worship  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Regency. 

Now,  at  forty-two,  this  woman — who  had  hitherto  regarded 
men  as  no  more  than  pleasing  playthings,  to  whom,  indeed, 
she  had,  strange  to  say,  granted  much,  regarding  love  as 
merely  a  matter  of  sacrifice  to  gain  the  upper  hand — this 
woman,  on  first  seeing  Lucien,  had  been  seized  with  such  a 
passion  as  the  Baron  de  Nucingen's  for  Esther.  She  had 
loved,  as  Asia  had  just  told  her,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life. 

This  postponement  of  youth  is  more  common  with  Parisian 
women  than  might  be  supposed,  and  causes  the  ruin  of  some 
virtuous  souls  just  as  they  are  reaching  the  haven  of  forty. 
The  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  was  the  only  person  in  the 
secret  of  the  vehement  and  absorbing  passion,  of  which  the 
joys,  from  the  girlish  suspicion  of  first  love  to  the  preposterous 
follies  of  fulfillment,  had  made  Leontine  half  crazy  and  insati- 
able. 

True  love,  as  we  know,  is  merciless.  The  discovery  of 
Esther's  existence  had  been  followed  by  one  of  those  outbursts 
of  rage  which  in  a  woman  rise  even  to  the  pitch  of  murder ; 
then  came  the  phase  of  meanness,  to  which  a  sincere  affection 
humbles  itself  so  gladly.  Indeed,  for  the  last  month  the 
countess  would  have  given  ten  years  of  her  life  to  have  Lucien 
again  for  one  week.  At  last  she  had  even  resigned  herself  to 
accept  Esther  as  her  rival,  just  when  the  news  of  her  lover's 
arrest  had  come  like  the  last  trump  on  this  paroxysm  of  devo- 
tion. 

.  The  countess  had  nearly  died  of  it.  Her  husband  had  him- 
self nursed  her  in  bed,  fearing  the  betrayal  of  delirium,  and 
for  twenty-four  hours  she  had  been  living  with  a  knife  in  her 
heart.  She  said  to  her  husband  in  her  fever 

"Save  Lucien,  and  I  will  live  henceforth  for  you  alone." 

"  Indeed,  as  Madame  la  Duchesse  tells  you,  it  is  of  no  use 
to  make  your  eyes  like  boiled  gooseberries,"  cried  the  dread- 
ful Asia,  shaking  the  countess  by  the  arm.  "  If  you  want  to 


374  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

save  him,  there  is  not  a  minute  to  lose.  He  is  innocent — I 
swear  it  by  my  mother's  bones  !  " 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course  he  is!"  cried  the  countess,  looking 
quite  kindly  at  the  dreadful  old  woman. 

"But,"  Asia  went  on,  "if  Monsieur  Camusot  questions 
him  the  wrong  way,  he  can  make  a  guilty  man  of  him  with 
two  sentences;  so,  if  it  is  in  your  power  to  get  the  Con- 
ciergerie  opened  to  you,  and  to  say  a  few  words  to  him,  go 
at  once,  and  give  him  this  paper.  He  will  be  released  to- 
morrow; I  will  answer  for  it.  Now,  get  him  out  of  the 
scrape,  for  you  got  him  into  it." 

"I?" 

"Yes,  you!  You  fine  ladies  never  have  a  sou  even  when 
you  own  millions.  When  I  allowed  myself  the  luxury  of  keep- 
ing boys,  they  always  had  their  pockets  full  of  gold  !  Their 
amusements  amused  me.  It  is  delightful  to  be  mother  and 
mistress  in  one.  Now,  you — you  let  the  men  you  love  die  of 
hunger  without  asking  any  questions.  Esther,  now,  made  no 
speeches;  she  gave,  at  the  cost  of  perdition,  soul  and  body, 
the  million  your  Lucien  was  required  to  show,  and  that  is 
what  has  brought  him  to  this  pass " 

"  Poor  girl !  Did  she  do  that?  I  love  her  !  "  said  Leon- 
tine. 

"Yes — now  !  "  said  Asia,  with  freezing  irony. 

"  She  was  a  real  beauty  ;  but  now,  my  angel,  you  are  better 
looking  than  she  is.  And  Lucien's  marriage  is  so  effectually 
broken  off  that  nothing  can  mend  it,"  said  Whe  duchess  in  a 
whisper  to  Leontine. 

The  effect  of  this  revelation  and  forecast  was  so  great  on  the 
countess  that  she  was  well  again.  She  passed  her  hand  over 
her  brow ;  she  was  young  once  more. 

"Now,  my  lady,  hot  foot,  and  make  haste!"  said  Asia, 
seeing  the  change,  and  guessing  what  had  caused  it. 

"But,"  said  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse,  "if  the  first  thing 
is  to  prevent  Lucien's  being  examined  by  Monsieur  Camusot, 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS,  375 

we  can  do  that  by  writing  two  words  to  the  judge  and  sending 
your  man  with  it  to  the  Palais,  Leontine." 

"Then  come  into  my  room,"  said  Madame  de  Serizy. 

This  is  what  was  taking  place  at  the  Palais  while  Lucien's 
protectresses  were  obeying  the  orders  issued  by  Jacques  Collin. 
The  gendarmes  placed  the  moribund  prisoner  on  a  chair  facing 
the  window  in  Monsieur  Camusot's  room ;  he  was  sitting  in 
his  place  in  front  of  his  table.  Coquart,  pen  in  hand,  had  a 
little  table  to  himself  a  few  yards  off. 

The  aspect  of  a  magistrate's  chambers  is  not  a  matter  of 
indifference;  and  if  this  room  had  not  been  chosen  inten- 
tionally, it  must  be  owned  that  chance  had  favored  justice  like 
a  sister.  An  examining  judge,  like  a  painter,  requires  the 
clear  equable  light  of  a  north  window,  for  the  criminal's  face 
is  a  picture  which  he  must  constantly  study.  Hence  most 
magistrates  place  their  table,  as  this  of  Camusot's  was  arranged, 
so  as  to  sit  with  their  back  to  the  window  and  leave  the  face 
of  the  examinee  in  broad  daylight.  Not  one  of  them  all  but, 
by  the  end  of  six  months,  has  assumed  an  absent-minded  and 
indifferent  expression,  if  he  does  not  wear  spectacles,  and 
maintains  it  throughout  the  examination. 

It  was  a  sudden  change  of  expression  in  the  prisoner's  face, 
detected  by  these  means,  and  caused  by  a  sudden  point-blank 
question,  that  led  to  the  discovery  of  the  crime  committed  by 
Castaing  at  the  very  moment  when,  after  a  long  consultation 
with  the  public  prosecutor,  the  magistrate  was  about  to  let  the 
criminal  loose  on  society  for  lack  of  evidence.  This  detail 
will  show  the  least  intelligent  person  how  living,  interesting, 
curious,  and  dramatically  terrible  is  the  conflict  of  an  exami- 
nation— a  conflict  without  witnesses,  but  always  recorded.  God 
knows  what  remains  on  the  paper  of  the  scenes  at  white  heat 
in  which  a  look,  a  tone,  a  quiver  of  the  features,  the  faintest 
touch  of  color  lent  by  some  emotion,  has  been  fraught  with 
danger,  as  though  the  adversaries  were  savages  watching  each 


376  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

other  to  plant  a  fatal  stroke.  A  report  is  no  more  than  the 
ashes  of  the  fire. 

"What  is  your  real  name?"  Camusot  asked  Jacques 
Collin. 

"Don  Carlos  Herrera,  canon  of  the  Royal  Chapter  of 
Toledo,  and  secret  envoy  of  his  majesty  Ferdinand  VII." 

It  must  here  be  observed  that  Jacques  Collin  spoke  French 
"  like  a  Spanish  cow,"  as  the  saying  is,  blundering  over  it  in 
such  a  way  as  to  make  his  answers  almost  unintelligible,  and 
to  require  them  to  be  repeated.  But  Monsieur  de  Nucingen's 
German  barbarisms  have  already  weighted  this  Scene  too 
much  to  allow  of  the  introduction  of  other  sentences  no  less 
difficult  to  read,  and  hindering  the  rapid  progress  of  the  tale. 

"Then  you  have  papers  to  prove  your  right  to  the  dignities 
of  which  you  speak  ? ' '  asked  Camusot. 

"Yes,  monsieur — my  passport,  a  letter  from  his  Catholic 
majesty  authorizing  my  mission.  In  short,  if  you  will  but 
send  at  once  to  the  Spanish  embassy  two  lines,  which  I  will 
write  in  your  presence,  I  shall  be  identified.  Then,  if  you 
wish  for  further  evidence,  I  will  write  to  his  eminence  the 
high  almoner  of  France,  and  he  will  immediately  send  his 
private  secretary." 

"And  do  you  still  pretend  that  you  are  dying?"  asked  the 
magistrate.  "  If  you  have  really  gone  through  all  the  suffer- 
ings you  have  complained  of  since  your  arrest,  you  ought  to 
be  dead  by  this  time,"  said  Camusot  ironically. 

"You  are  simply  trying  the  courage  of  an  innocent  man 
and  exhausting  the  strength  of  his  constitution,"  said  the 
prisoner  mildly. 

"  Coquart,  ring.  Send  for  the  prison  doctor  and  an  in- 
firmary attendant.  We  shall  be  obliged  to  remove  your  coat 
and  proceed  to  verify  the  marks  on  your  shoulder,"  Camusot 
went  on. 

"  I  am  in  your  hands,  monsieur." 

The  prisoner  then  inquired  whether  the  magistrate  would 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  377 

be  kind  enough  to  explain  to  him  what  he  meant  by  "  the 
marks,"  and  why  they  should  be  sought  on  his  shoulder.  The 
judge  was  prepared  for  this  question. 

"You  are  suspected  of  being  Jacques  Collin,  an  escaped 
convict,  whose  daring  shrinks  at  nothing,  not  even  at  sacri- 
lege !  "  said  Camusot  promptly,  his  eyes  fixed  on  those  of  the 
prisoner. 

Jacques  Collin  gave  no  sign,  and  did  not  color;  he  re- 
mained quite  calm,  and  assumed  an  air  of  guileless  curiosity 
as  he  gazed  at  Camusot. 

"I,  monsieur?  A  convict?  May  the  order  I  belong  to 
and  God  above  forgive  you  for  such  an  error.  Tell  me  what 
I  can  do  to  prevent  your  continuing  to  offer  such  an  insult  to 
the  rights  of  free  men,  to  the  church,  and  to  the  King  my 
master. ' ' 

The  judge  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  explained  to  the  abbe 
that  if  he  had  been  branded,  a  penalty  at  that  time  inflicted 
by  law  on  all  convicts  sent  to  the  hulks,  the  letters  could  be 
made  to  show  by  giving  him  a  slap  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  monsieur,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  "  it  would  indeed  be 
unfortunate  if  my  devotion  to  the  royal  cause  should  prove 
fatal  to  me." 

"Explain  yourself,"  said  the  judge,  "  that  is  what  you  are 
here  for." 

"  Well,  monsieur,  I  must  have  a  great  many  scars  on  my 
back,  for  I  was  shot  in  the  back  as  a  traitor  to  my  country 
while  I  was  faithful  to  my  King,  by  constitutionalists  who  left 
me  for  dead." 

"  You  were  shot,  and  you  still  live  !  "  said  Camusot. 

"I  had  made  friends  with  some  of  the  soldiers,  to  whom 
certain  pious  persons  had  sent  money,  so  they  placed  me  so 
far  off  that  only  spent  balls  reached  me,  and  the  men  aimed 
at  my  back.  This  is  a  fact  that  his  excellency  the  ambassador 
can  bear  witness  to " 

"  This  devil  of  a  man  has  an  answer  for  everything !     How- 


378  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

ever,  so  much  the  better,"  thought  Camusot,  who  assumed  so 
much  severity  only  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  justice  and  of  the 
police.  "  How  is  it  that  a  man  of  your  character,"  he  went 
on,  addressing  the  convict,  "should  have  been  found  in  the 
house  of  the  Baron  de  Nucingen's  mistress — and  such  a  mis- 
tress, a  girl  who  had  been  a  common  prostitute !  " 

"This  is  why  I  was  found  in  a  courtesan's  house,  mon- 
sieur," replied  Jacques  Collin.  "But  before  telling  you  the 
reasons  for  my  being  there,  I  ought  to  mention  that  at  the 
moment  when  I  was  just  going  upstairs  I  was  seized  with  the 
first  attack  of  my  illness,  and  I  had  no  time  to  speak  to  the 
girl.  I  knew  of  Mademoiselle  Esther's  intention  of  killing 
herself;  and  as  young  Lucien  de  Rubempre's  interests  were 
involved,  and  I  have  a  particular  affection  for  him  for  sacredly 
secret  reasons,  I  was  going  to  try  to  persuade  the  poor  creature 
to  give  up  the  idea,  suggested  to  her  by  despair.  I  meant  to 
tell  her  that  Lucien  must  certainly  fail  in  his  last  attempt  to 
win  Mademoiselle  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu ;  and  I  hoped  that 
by  telling  her  she  had  inherited  seven  millions  of  francs,  I 
might  give  her  courage  to  live. 

"I  am  convinced,  Monsieur  the  Judge,  that  I  am  a  martyr 
to  the  secrets  confided  to  me.  By  the  suddenness  of  my  ill- 
ness I  believe  that  I  had  been  poisoned  that  very  morning, 
but  my  strong  constitution  has  saved  me.  I  know  that  a  cer- 
tain agent  of  the  political  police  is  dogging  me,  and  trying  to 
entangle  me  in  some  discreditable  business. 

"  If,  at  my  request,  you  had  sent  for  a  doctor  on  my  arrival 
here,  you  would  have  had  ample  proof  of  what  I  am  telling 
you  as  to  the  state  of  my  health.  Believe  me,  monsieur,  some 
persons  far  above  our  heads  have  some  strong  interest  in  get- 
ting me  mistaken  for  some  villain,  so  as  to  have  a  right  to  get 
rid  of  me.  It  is  not  all  profit  to  serve  a  king;  they  have  their 
meannesses.  The  church  alone  is  faultless.',' 

It  is  impossible  to  do  justice  to  the  play  of  Jacques  Collin's 
countenance  as  he  carefully  spun  out  this  speech,  sentence  by 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  379 

sentence,  for  ten  minutes ;  and  it  was  all  so  plausible,  espe- 
cially the  mention  of  Corentin,  that  the  lawyer  was  shaken. 

"Will  you  confide  to  me  the  reasons  of  your  affection  for 
Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre?" 

"  Can  you  not  guess  them  ?  I  am  sixty  years  of  age,  mon- 
sieur— I  implore  you  do  not  write  it.  It  is  because — must  I 
say  it?" 

"  It  will  be  to  your  own  advantage,  and  more  particularly 
to  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre's,  if  you  tell  everything," 
replied  the  judge. 

"  Because  he  is — Oh,  God  !  he  is  my  son,"  he  gasped  out 
with  an  effort. 

And  he  fainted. 

"Do  not  write  that  down,  Coquart,"  said  Camusot  in  an 
undertone. 

Coquart  rose  and  fetched  a  little  phial  of  "  Four  Thieves' 
Vinegar." 

"If  he  is  Jacques  Collin,  he  is  a  splendid  actor  !  "  thought 
Camusot. 

Coquart  held  the  phial  under  the  convict's  nose,  while  the 
judge  examined  him  with  the  keen  eye  of  a  lynx — and  a  magis- 
trate. 

"You  must  make  him  take  off  his  wig,"  said  Camusot, 
after  waiting  till  the  man  recovered  consciousness. 

Jacques  Collin  heard,  and  quaked  with  terror,  for  he  knew 
how  vile  an  expression  his  face  would  assume. 

"  If  you  have  not  strength  enough  to  take  it  off  your- 
self   Yes,  Coquart,  remove  it,"  said  Camusot  to  his 

clerk. 

Jacques  Collin  bent  his  head  to  the  clerk  with  admirable 
resignation  ;  but  then  his  head,  bereft  of  that  adornment,  was 
hideous  to  behold  in  its  natural  aspect. 

The  sight  of  it  left  Camusot  in  the  greatest  uncertainty. 
While  waiting  for  the  doctor  and  the  man  from  the  infirmary, 
he  set  to  work  to  classify  and  examine  the  various  papers  and 


380  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

the  objects  seized  in  Lucien's  rooms.  After  carrying  out  their 
functions  in  the  Rue  Saint-Georges  at  Mademoiselle  Esther's 
house,  the  police  had  searched  the  rooms  at  the  Quai  Mala- 
quais. 

"You  have  your  hand  on  some  letters  from  the  Comtesse 
de  Serizy,"  said  Carlos  Herrera.  "  But  I  cannot  imagine 
why  you  should  have  almost  all  Lucien's  papers,"  he  added, 
with  a  smile  of  overwhelming  irony  at  the  judge. 

Camusot,  as  he  saw  the  smile,  understood  the  bearing  of  the 
word  "almost." 

"  Lucien  de  Rubempre  is  in  custody  under  suspicion  of  being 
your  accomplice,"  said  he,  watching  to  see  the  effect  of  this 
news  on  his  examinee. 

"You  have  brought  about  a  great  misfortune,  for  he  is  as 
innocent  as  I  am,"  replied  the  sham  Spaniard,  without  be- 
traying the  smallest  agitation. 

"  We  shall  see.  We  have  not  as  yet  established  your  iden- 
tity," Camusot  observed,  surprised  at  the  prisoner's  indiffer- 
ence. "  If  you  are  really  Don  Carlos  Herrera,  the  position 
of  Lucien  Chardon  will  at  once  be  completely  altered." 

"  To  be  sure,  she  became  Madame  Chardon — Mademoiselle 
de  Rubempre!"  murmured  Carlos.  "Ah!  that  was  one  of 
the  greatest  sins  of  my  life." 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  by  the  movement  of  his 
lips  seemed  to  be  uttering  a  fervent  prayer. 

"  But  if  you  are  Jacques  Collin,  and  if  he  was,  and  knew 
that  he  was,  the  companion  of  an  escaped  convict,  a  sacri- 
legious wretch,  all  the  crimes  of  which  he  is  suspected  by  the 
law  are  more  than  probably  true." 

Carlos  Herrera  sat  like  bronze  as  he  heard  this  speech,  very 
cleverly  delivered  by  the  judge,  and  his  only  reply  to  the 
words  " knew  that  he  was"  and  "  e scaped  convict "  was  to  lift 
his  hands  to  heaven  with  a  gesture  of  noble  and  dignified 
sorrow. 

"  Monsieur  1'Abbd,"  Camusot  went  on,  with  the  greatest 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  381 

politeness,  "  if  you  are  Don  Carlos  Herrera,  you  will  forgive 
us  for  what  we  are  obliged  to  do  in  the  interests  of  justice  and 
truth." 

Jacques  Collin  detected  a  snare  in  the  lawyer's  very  voice 
as  he  spoke  the  words  "  Monsieur  1'Abbe."  The  man's  face 
never  changed ;  Camusot  had  looked  for  a  gleam  of  joy, 
which  might  have  been  the  first  indication  of  his  being  a  con- 
vict, betraying  the  exquisite  satisfaction  of  a  criminal  deceiving 
his  judge ;  but  this  hero  of  the  hulks  was  strong  in  Machia- 
vellian dissimulation. 

"  I  am  a  diplomatist,  and  I  belong  to  an  order  of  very 
austere  discipline,"  replied  Jacques  Collin,  with  apostolic 
mildness.  "I  understand  everything,  and  am  inured  to  suf- 
fering. I  should  be  free  by  this  time  if  you  had  discovered 
in  my  room  the  hiding-place  where  I  keep  my  papers — for  I 
see  you  have  none  but  unimportant  documents." 

This  was  a  finishing  stroke  to  Camusot :  Jacques  Collin  by 
his  air  of  ease  and  simplicity  had  counteracted  all  the  sus- 
picions to  which  his  evil  appearance,  when  unwigged,  had 
given  rise. 

"  Where  are  those  papers  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  exactly  if  you  will  get  a  secretary  from  the 
Spanish  embassy  to  accompany  your  messenger.  He  will 
take  them  and  be  answerable  to  you  for  the  documents,  for  it 
is  to  me  a  matter  of  confidential  duty — diplomatic  secrets 
which  would  compromise  his  late  majesty  Louis  XVIII.  In- 
deed, monsieur,  it  would  be  better However,  you  are  a 

magistrate — and,  after  all,  the  ambassador,  to  whom  I  refer 
the  whole  question,  must  decide." 

At  this  juncture  the  usher  announced  the  arrival  of  the 
doctor  and  the  infirmary  attendant,  who  came  in. 

"Good-morning,  Monsieur  Lebrun,"  said  Camusot  to  the 
doctor.  "  I  have  sent  for  you  to  examine  the  state  of  health 
of  this  prisoner  under  suspicion.  He  says  he  has  been  pois- 
oned and  at  the  point  of  death  since  the  day  before  yesterday; 


382  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

see  if  there  is  any  risk  in  undressing  him  to  look  for  the 
brand." 

Doctor  Lebrun  took  Jacques  Collin's  hand,  felt  his  pulse, 
asked  to  look  at  his  tongue,  and  scrutinized  him  steadily. 
This  inspection  lasted  about  ten  minutes. 

"The  prisoner  has  been  suffering  severely,"  said  the  medical 
officer,  "but  at  this  moment  he  is  amazingly  strong " 

"That  spurious  energy,  monsieur,  is  due  to  nervous  excite- 
ment caused  by  my  strange  position,"  said  Jacques  Collin, 
with  the  dignity  of  a  bishop. 

"That  is  possible,''  said  Monsieur  Lebrun. 

At  a  sign  from  Camusot  the  prisoner  was  stripped  of  every- 
thing but  his  trousers,  even  of  his  shirt,  and  the  spectators 
might  admire  the  hairy  torso  of  a  Cyclops.  It  was  that  of  the 
Farnese  Hercules  at  Naples  in  its  colossal  exaggeration. 

"  For  what  does  nature  intend  a  man  of  this  build  ?  "  said 
Lebrun  to  the  judge. 

The  usher  brought  in  the  ebony  staff,  which  from  time 
immemorial  has  been  the  insignia  of  his  office,  and  is  called 
his  rod ;  he  struck  it  several  times  over  the  place  where  the 
executioner  had  branded  the  fatal  letters.  Seventeen  spots 
appeared,  irregularly  distributed,  but  the  most  careful  scrutiny 
could  not  recognize  the  shape  of  any  letters.  The  usher  indeed 
pointed  out  that  the  top  bar  of  the  letter  T  was  shown  by  two 
spots,  with  an  interval  between  of  the  length  of  that  bar  be- 
tween the  two  points  at  each  end  of  it,  and  that  there  was 
another  spot,  hardly  discernible,  where  the  bottom  of  the  T 
should  be. 

"Still,  that  is  quite  uncertain,"  said  Camusot,  seeing  doubt 
in  the  expression  of  the  prison  doctor's  countenance. 

Carlos  begged  them  to  make  the  same  experiment  on  the 
other  shoulder  and  the  middle  of  his  back.  About  fifteen 
more  such  scars  appeared,  which,  at  the  Spaniard's  request, 
the  doctor  made  a  note  of;  and  he  pronounced  that  the  man's 
back  had  been  so  extensively  seamed  by  wounds  that  the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  383 

brand  would  not  show  even  if  it  had  been  made  by  the 
executioner. 

An  office-clerk  now  came  in  from  the  prefecture  and  handed 
a  note  to  Monsieur  Camusot,  requesting  an  answer.  After 
reading  it  the  lawyer  went  to  speak  to  Coquart,  but  in  such  a 
low  voice  that  no  one  could  catch  a  word.  Only,  by  a  glance 
from  Camusot,  Jacques  Collin  could  guess  that  some  informa- 
tion concerning  him  had  been  sent  by  the  prefect  of  police. 

"That  friend  of  Peyrade's  is  still  at  my  heels,"  thought 
Jacques  Collin.  "  If  only  I  knew  him,  I  would  get  rid  of 
him  as  I  did  of  Contenson.  If  only  I  could  see  Asia  once 
more  !  " 

After  signing  a  paper  written  by  Coquart,  the  judge  put  it 
into  an  envelope  and  handed  it  to  the  clerk  of  the  Delegate's 
office. 

This  is  an  indispensable  auxiliary  to  justice.  It  is  under 
the  direction  of  a  police  commissioner,  and  consists  of  peace- 
officers  who,  with  the  assistance  of  the  police  commissioners 
of  each  district,  carry  into  effect  orders  for  searching  the 
houses  or  apprehending  the  persons  of  those  who  are  suspected 
of  complicity  in  crimes  and  felonies.  These  functionaries  in 
authority  save  the  examining  magistrates  a  great  deal  of  very 
precious  time. 

At  a  sign  from  the  judge  the  prisoner  was  dressed  by  Mon- 
sieur Lebrun  and  the  attendant,  who  then  withdrew  with 
the  usher.  Camusot  sat  down  at  his  table  and  played  with 
his  pen. 

"You  have  an  aunt,"  he  suddenly  said  to  Jacques  Collin. 

"An  aunt  ?  "  echoed  Don  Carlos  Herrera  with  amazement. 
"Why,  monsieur,  I  have  no  relations.  I  am  the  unacknowl- 
edged son  of  the  late  Duke  of  Ossuna." 

But  to  himself  he  said  :  "  They  are  burning  " — an  allusion 
to  the  game  of  hot  cockles,  or  hide  and  seek,  which  is  indeed 
a  childlike  symbol  of  the  dreadful  struggle  between  justice 
and  the  criminal. 


384  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

"Pooh  !  "  said  Camusot.  "You  still  have  an  aunt  living, 
Mademoiselle  Jacqueline  Collin,  whom  you  placed  in  Esther's 
service  under  the  eccentric  name  of  Asia." 

Jacques  Collin  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  indifference 
that  was  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  cool  curiosity  he  gave 
throughout  to  the  judge's  words,  while  Camusot  studied  him 
with  cunning  attention. 

"Take  care,"  said  Camusot ;  "  listen  to  me." 

"I  am  listening,  sir." 

"Your  aunt  is  a  wardrobe  dealer  and  procuress  at  the 
Temple ;  her  business  is  managed  by  a  demoiselle  Paccard, 
the  sister  of  a  convict — herself  a  very  good  girl,  known  as  la 
Romette.  Justice  is  on  the  track  of  your  aunt,  and  in  a  few 
hours  we  shall  have  decisive  evidence.  The  woman  is  wholly 
devoted  to  you " 

"Pray  go  on,  Monsieur  the  Judge,"  said  Collin  coolly,  in 
answer  to  a  pause ;  "  I  am  listening  to  you." 

"  Your  aunt,  who  is  about  five  years  older  than  you  are, 
was  formerly  Marat's  mistress — of  odious  memory.  From 
that  blood-stained  source  she  derived  the  little  fortune  she 
possesses. 

"From  information  I  have  received  she  must  be  a  very 
clever  receiver  of  stolen  goods,  for  no  proofs  have  yet  been 
found  on  which  to  commit  her.  After  Marat's  death  she 
seems,  from  the  notes  I  have  here,  to  have  lived  with  a 
chemist  who  was  condemned  to  death  in  the  year  XII.  for 
issuing  false  coin.  She  was  called  as  witness  in  the  case.  It 
was  from  this  intimacy  that  she  derived  her  knowledge  of 
poisons.  She  was  a  procuress  from  the  year  IX.  to  1806. 

"  From  1807  to  1809  she  spent  two  years  in  prison  for  plac- 
ing girls  under  age  upon  the  street,  and  leading  them  into 
debauchery. 

"You  were  already  convicted  of  forgery;  you  had  left  the 
banking  house  where  your  aunt  had  been  able  to  place  you  as 
clerk,  thanks  to  the  education  you  had  had,  and  the  favor 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  385 

enjoyed  by  your  aunt  with  certain  persons  to  whose  depravity 
she  supplied  victims. 

"  All  this,  prisoner,  is  not  much  like  the  dignity  of  the 
Dukes  d'Ossuna. 

"  Do  you  persist  in  your  denial  ?  " 

Jacques  Collin  sat  listening  to  Monsieur  Camusot,  and 
thinking  of  his  happy  childhood  at  the  College  of  the  Ora- 
torians,  where  he  had  been  brought  up,  a  meditation  which 
lent  him  a  truly  amazed  look.  And  in  spite  of  his  skill  as  a 
practiced  examiner,  Camusot  could  bring  no  sort  of  expres- 
sion to  those  placid  features. 

"  If  you  have  accurately  recorded  the  account  of  myself  I 
gave  you  at  first,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  "you  can  read  it 
through  again.  I  cannot  alter  the  facts.  I  never  went  to  the 
woman's  house ;  how  should  I  know  who  her  cook  was  ?  The 
persons  of  whom  you  speak  are  utterly  unknown  to  me." 

"  Notwithstanding  your  denial,  we  shall  proceed  to  confront 
you  with  persons  who  may  succeed  in  diminishing  your  assur- 
ance." 

"  A  man  who  has  been  three  times  shot  is  used  to  anything," 
replied  Jacques  Collin  meekly. 

Camusot  proceeded  to  examine  the  seized  papers,  while 
awaiting  the  return  of  the  famous  Bibi-Lupin,  whose  expedition 
was  amazing ;  for  at  half-past  eleven,  the  inquiry  having 
begun  at  ten  o'clock,  the  usher  came  in  to  inform  the  judge 
in  an  undertone  of  Bibi-Lupin's  arrival. 

"Show  him  in,"  replied  M.  Camusot. 

Bibi-Lupin,  who  had  been  expected  to  exclaim,  "It  is  he," 
as  he  came  in,  stood  puzzled.  He  did  not  recognize  his  man 
in  a  face  pitted  with  smallpox.  This  hesitancy  startled  the 
magistrate. 

"  It  is  his  build,  his  height,"  said  the  agent.     "  Oh  !  yes, 

it  is  you,  Jacques  Collin  !  "  he  went  on,  as  he  examined  his 

eyes,  forehead,  and  ears.     "  There  are  some  things  which  no 

disguise  can   alter.     Certainly  it  is  he,    Monsieur  Camusot. 

25 


386  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Jacques  has  the  scar  of  a  cut  on  his  left  arm.  Take  off  his 
coat,  and  you  will  see " 

Jacques  Collin  was  again  obliged  to  take  off  his  coat ;  Bibi- 
Lupin  turned  up  his  sleeves  and  showed  the  scar  he  had 
spoken  of. 

"It  is  the  scar  of  a  bullet,"  replied  Don  Carlos  Herrera. 
"  Here  are  several  more." 

"Ah !     It  is  certainly  his  voice,"  cried  Bibi-Lupin. 

"Your  certainty,"  said  Camusot,  "is  merely  an  opinion; 
it  is  not  proof." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Bibi-Lupin  with  deference.  "But  I 
will  bring  witnesses.  One  of  the  boarders  from  the  Maison 
Vauquer  is  here  already,"  said  he,  with  an  eye  turned  on 
Jacques  Collin. 

But  the  prisoner's  set,  calm  face  did  not  move  a  muscle. 

"  Show  the  person  in,"  said  Camusot  roughly,  his  dissatis- 
faction betraying  itself  in  spite  of  his  seeming  indifference. 

This  irritation  was  not  lost  on  Jacques  Collin,  who  had  not 
counted  on  the  judge's  sympathy,  and  sat  lost  in  apathy,  pro- 
duced by  his  deep  meditations  in  the  effort  to  guess  what  the 
cause  could  be. 

The  usher  now  showed  in  Madame  Poiret.  At  this  unex- 
pected appearance  the  prisoner  had  a  slight  shiver,  but  his 
trepidation  was  not  remarked  by  Camusot,  who  seemed  to 
have  made  up  his  mind. 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  he,  proceeding  to  carry  out 
the  formalities  introductory  to  all  depositions  and  examina- 
tions. 

Madame  Poiret,  a  little  old  woman  as  white  and  wrinkled 
as  a  sweetbread,  dressed  in  a  dark-blue  silk  gown,  gave  her 
name  as  Christine  Michelle  Michonneau,  wife  of  one  Poiret, 
and  her  age  as  fifty-one  years,  said  that  she  was  born  in  Paris, 
lived  in  the  Rue  des  Poules  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des  Postes, 
and  that  her  business  was  that  of  lodging-house  keeper. 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  387 

"In  1818  and  1819,"  said  the  judge,  "  you  lived,  madame, 
in  a  boarding-house  kept  by  a  Madame  Vauquer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur;  it  was  there  that  I  met  Monsieur  Poiret, 
a  retired  official,  who  became  my  husband,  and  whom  I  have 
nursed  in  his  bed  this  twelvemonth  past.  Poor  man  !  he  is 
very  bad ;  and  I  cannot  be  long  away  from  him." 

"  There  was  a  certain  Vautrin  in  the  house  at  the  time?" 
asked  Camusot. 

"Oh,  monsieur,  that  is  quite  a  long  story;  he  was  a  hor- 
rible man,  from  the  galleys " 

"You  helped  to  get  him  arrested?" 

"That  is  not  true,  sir." 

"You  are  in  the  presence  of  the  law;  be  careful,"  said 
Monsieur  Camusot  sternly. 

Madame  Poiret  was  silent. 

"  Try  to  remember,"  Camusot  went  on.  "  Do  you  re- 
collect the  man  ?  Would  you  know  him  again  ?  " 

"I  think  so." 

"Is  this  the  man?" 

Madame  Poiret  put  on  her  "eye-preservers,"  and  looked  at 
the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera. 

"It  is  his  build,  his  height;  and  yet — no — if — Monsieur 
the  Judge,"  she  said,  "if  I  could  see  his  chest  bare  I  should 
recognize  him  at  once." 

The  magistrate  and  his  clerk  could  not  help  laughing,  not- 
withstanding the  gravity  of  their  office ;  Jacques  Collin  joined 
in  their  hilarity,  but  discreetly.  The  prisoner  had  not  put  on 
his  coat  after  Bibi-Lupin  had  removed  it,  and  at  a  sign  from 
the  judge  he  obligingly  opened  his  shirt. 

"  Yes,  that  is  his  fur  trimming,  sure  enough  !  But  you 
have  turned  gray,  Monsieur  Vautrin,"  cried  Madame  Poiret. 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  that?  "  asked  the  judge  of  the 
prisoner. 

"That  she  is  mad,"  replied  Jacques  Collin. 

"Bless   me!     If  I  had  a  doubt — for  his  face  is  altered — 


388  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

that  voice  would  be  enough.  He  is  the  man  who  threatened 
me.  Ah  !  and  those  are  his  eyes  I ' ' 

"The  police  agent  and  this  woman,"  said  Camusot,  speak- 
ing to  Jacques  Collin,  "cannot  possibly  have  conspired  to 
say  the  same  thing,  for  neither  of  them  had  seen  you  till  now. 
How  do  you  account  for  that  ?  " 

"Justice  has  blundered  more  conspicuously  even  than  it 
does  now  in  accepting  the  evidence  of  a  woman  who  recog- 
nizes a  man  by  the  hair  on  his  chest  and  the  suspicions  of  a 
police  agent,"  replied  Jacques  Collin.  "  I  am  said  to  resemble 
a  great  criminal  in  voice,  eyes,  and  build ;  that  seems  a  little 
vague.  As  to  the  reminiscence  which  would  prove  certain 
relations  between  madame  and  my  double — which  she  does 
not  blush  to  own — you  yourself  laughed  at  it.  Allow  me, 
monsieur,  in  the  interests  of  truth,  which  I  am  far  more 
anxious  to  establish  for  my  own  sake  than  you  can  be  for  the 
sake  of  justice,  to  ask  this  lady — Madame  Foi " 

"Poiret." 

"  Poret — excuse  me,  I  am  a  Spaniard — whether  she  remem- 
bers the  other  persons  who  lived  in  this — what  then,  did  you 
call  the  house?" 

"  A  pension  bourgeois  e,"  said  Madame  Poiret. 

"I  do  not  know  what  that  is." 

"A  house  where  you  can  dine  and  breakfast  by  subscrip- 
tion." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Camusot,  with  a  favorable  nod  to 
Jacques  Collin,  whose  apparent  good  faith  in  suggesting  means 
to  arrive  at  some  conclusion  struck  him  greatly.  "  Try  to  re- 
member the  boarders  who  were  in  the  house  at  the  time  when 
Jacques  Collin  was  apprehended." 

"There  were  Monsieur  de  Rastignac,  Doctor  Bianchon, 
Pere  Goriot,  Mademoiselle  Taillefer " 

"That  will  do,"  said  Camusot,  steadily  watching  Jacques 
Collin,  whose  expression  did  not  change.  "Well,  about  this 
Pere  Goriot?" 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  389 

"He  is  dead,"  said  Madame  Poiret. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  "I  have  several  times 
met  Monsieur  de  Rastignac,  a  friend,  I  believe  of  Madame  de 
Nucingen's ;  and  if  it  is  the  same,  he  certainly  never  supposed 
me  to  be  the  convict  with  whom  these  persons  try  to  identify 
me." 

"Monsieur  de  Rastignac  and  Doctor  Bianchon,"  said  the 
magistrate,  "  both  hold  such  a  social  position  that  their  evi- 
dence, if  it  is  in  your  favor,  will  be  enough  to  procure  your 
release.  Coquart,  fill  up  a  summons  for  each  of  them." 

The  formalities  attending  Madame  Poiret's  examination 
were  over  in  a  few  minutes;  Coquart  read  aloud  to  her  the 
notes  he  had  made  of  the  little  scene,  and  she  signed  the 
paper;  but  the  prisoner  refused  to  sign,  alleging  his  ignorance 
of  the  forms  of  French  law. 

"That  is  enough  for  to-day,"  said  Monsieur  Camusot. 
"You  must  be  wanting  food.  I  will  have  you  taken  back  to 
the  Conciergerie." 

"Alas!  I  am  suffering  too  much  to  be  able  to  eat,"  said 
Jacques  Collin. 

Camusot  was  anxious  to  time  Jacques  Collin's  return  to 
coincide  with  the  prisoners'  hour  of  exercise  in  the  prison 
yard ;  but  he  needed  a  reply  from  the  governor  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie to  the  order  he  had  given  him  in  the  morning,  and 
he  rang  for  the  usher.  The  usher  appeared,  and  told  him 
that  the  porter's  wife,  from  the  house  on  the  Quai  Malaquais, 
had  an  important  document  to  communicate  with  reference 
to  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre.  This  was  so  serious  a 
matter  that  it  put  Camusot's  intentions  out  of  his  head. 

"  Show  her  in,"  said  he. 

"Beg  your  pardon;  pray  excuse  me,  gentlemen  all,"  said 
the  woman,  curtsying  to  the  judge  and  the  Abbe  Carlos  by 
turns.  "  We  were  so  worried  by  the  law — my  husband  and 
me — the  twice  when  it  has  marched  into  our  house,  that  we 
had  forgotten  a  letter  that  was  lying,  for  Monsieur  Lucien,  in 


390  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

our  chest  of  drawers,  which  we  paid  ten  sous  for  it,  though  it 
was  posted  in  Paris,  for  it  is  very  heavy,  sir.  Would  you 
please  to  pay  me  back  the  postage  ?  For  God  knows  when 
we  shall  see  our  lodgers  again  !  " 

"Was  this  letter  handed  to  you  by  the  postman?"  asked 
Camusot,  after  carefully  examining  the  envelope. 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Coquart,  write  full  notes  of  this  deposition.  Go  on,  my 
good  woman;  tell  us  your  name  and  your  business."  Camu- 
sot made  the  woman  take  the  oath,  and  then  he  dictated  the 
document. 

While  these  formalities  were  being  carried  out,  he  was  scru- 
tinizing the  postmark,  which  showed  the  hours  of  posting  and 
delivery,  as  well  as  the  date  of  the  same.  And  this  letter,  left 
for  Lucien  the  day  after  Esther's  death,  had  beyond  a  doubt 
been  written  and  posted  on  the  day  of  the  catastrophe.  Mon- 
sieur Camusot's  amazement  may  therefore  be  imagined  when 
he  read  this  letter,  written  and  signed  by  her  whom  the  law 
believed  to  have  been  the  victim  of  a  crime : 

"Esther  to  Lucien. 

"  MONDAY,  May  13,  1830. 
"  My  last  day ;  ten  in  the  morning. 

"My  LUCIEN: — I  have  not  an  hour  to  live.  At  eleven 
o'clock  I  shall  be  dead,  and  I  shall  die  without  a  pang.  I 
have  paid  fifty  thousand  francs  for  a  neat  little  black  currant, 
containing  a  poison  that  will  kill  me  with  the  swiftness  of 
lightning.  And  so,  my  darling,  you  may  tell  yourself,  '  My 
little  Esther  had  no  suffering.'  And  yet  I  shall  suffer  in  writ- 
ing these  pages. 

"  The  monster  who  has  paid  so  dear  for  me,  knowing  that 
the  day  when  I  should  know  myself  to  b,e  his  would  have  no 
morrow — Nucingen  has  just  left  me,  as  drunk  as  a  bear  with 
his  skin  full  of  wine.  For  the  first  and  last  time  in  my  life  I 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  391 

have  had  the  opportunity  of  comparing  my  old  trade  as  a 
street  hussy  with  the  life  of  true  love,  of  placing  the  tender- 
ness which  unfolds  in  the  infinite  above  the  horrors  of  a  duty 
which  longs  to  destroy  itself  and  leave  no  room  even  for  a 
kiss.  Only  such  loathing  could  make  death  delightful. 

"  I  have  taken  a  bath ;  I  should  have  liked  to  send  for  the 
father  confessor  of  the  convent  where  I  was  baptized,  to  have 
confessed  and  washed  my  soul.  But  I  have  had  enough  of 
prostitution  ;  it  would  be  profaning  a  sacrament ;  and,  beside, 
I  feel  myself  cleansed  in  the  waters  of  sincere  repentance. 
God  must  do  what  He  will  with  me. 

"  But  enough  of  all  this  maudlin  ;  for  you  I  want  to  be 
your  Esther  to  the  last  moment,  not  to  bore  you  with  my 
death,  or  the  future,  or  God,  who  is  good,  and  who  would 
not  be  good  if  He  were  to  torture  me  in  the  next  world  when 
I  have  endured  so  much  misery  in  this. 

"  I  have  before  me  your  beautiful  portrait,  painted  by  Mad- 
ame de  Mirbel.  That  sheet  of  ivory  used  to  comfort  me  in 
your  absence,  I  look  at  it  with  rapture  as  I  write  you  my  last 
thoughts,  and  tell  you  of  the  last  throbbing  of  my  heart.  I 
shall  inclose  the  miniature  in  this  letter,  for  I  cannot  bear  that 
it  should  be  stolen  or  sold.  The  mere  thought  that  what  has 
been  my  great  joy  may  lie"  behind  a  store  window,  mixed  up 
with  the  ladies  and  officers  of  the  Empire,  or  a  parcel  of 
Chinese  absurdities,  is  a  small  death  to  me.  Destroy  that 
picture,  my  sweetheart,  wipe  it  out,  never  give  it  to  any  one 
— unless,  indeed,  the  gift  might  win  back  the  heart  of  that 
walking,  well-dressed  maypole,  that  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu, 
who  will  make  you  black  and  blue  in  her  sleep,  her  bones  are 
so  sharp.  Yes,  to  that  I  consent,  and  then  I  shall  still  be  of 
some  use  to  you,  as  when  I  was  alive.  Oh  !  to  give  you 
pleasure,  or  only  to  make  you  laugh,  I  would  have  stood  over 
a  brasier  with  an  apple  in  my  mouth  to  cook  it  for  you.  So 
my  death  even  will  be  of  service  to  you.  I  should  have 
marred  your  home. 


392  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"  Oh  !  that  Clotilde  !  I  cannot  understand  her.  She  might 
have  been  your  wife,  have  borne  your  name,  have  never  left 
you  day  or  night,  have  belonged  to  you — and  she  could  make 
difficulties  !  One  must  be  high  bred  and  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  to  do  that !  and  not  have  ten  ounces  of  flesh  on  her 
bones  ! 

"  Poor  Lucien  !  Dear  ambitious  failure  !  I  am  thinking 
of  your  future  life.  Well,  well  !  you  will  more  than  once 
regret  your  poor  faithful  dog,  the  good  girl  who  would  steal  to 
serve  you,  who  would  have  been  dragged  into  a  police  court 
to  secure  your  happiness,  whose  only  occupation  was  to  think 
of  your  pleasures  and  invent  new  ones,  who  was  so  full  of  love 
for  you — in  her  hair,  her  feet,  her  ears — your  ballerina,  in 
short,  whose  every  look  was  a  benediction  ;  who  for  six  years 
has  thought  of  nothing  but  you,  who  was  so  entirely  your 
chattel  that  I  have  never  been  anything  but  an  effluence  of 
your  soul,  as  light  is  that  of  the  sun.  However,  for  lack  of 
money  and  of  honor,  I  can  never  be  your  wife.  I  have  at 
any  rate  provided  for  your  future  by  giving  you  all  I  have. 

"  Come  as  soon  as  you  get  this  letter  and  take  what  you 
find  under  my  pillow,  for  I  do  not  trust  the  people  about  me. 
Understand  that  I  mean  to  look  beautiful  when  I  am  dead.  I 
shall  go  to  bed,  and  lay  myself  flat  in  an  attitude — why  not  ? 
Then  I  shall  break  the  little  pill  against  the  roof  of  my  mouth, 
and  shall  not  be  disfigured  by  any  convulsion  or  by  a  ridicu- 
lous position. 

"Madame  de  Serizy  has  quarreled  with  you,  I  know,  be- 
cause of  me ;  but  when  she  hears  that  I  am  dead,  you  see, 
dear  pet,  she  will  forgive.  Make  it  up  with  her,  and  she  will 
find  you  a  suitable  wife  if  the  Grandlieus  persist  in  their 
refusal. 

"My  dear,  I  do  not  want  you  to  grieve  too  much  when 
you  hear  of  my  death.  To  begin  with,  I  must  tell  you  that 
the  hour  of  eleven  on  Monday  morning,  the  thirteenth  of 
May,  is  only  the  end  of  a  long  illness,  which  began  on  the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  393 

day  when,  on  the  Terrace  of  Saint-Germain,  you  threw  me 
•back  on  my  former  line  of  life.  The  soul  may  be  sick,  as  the 
body  is.  But  the  soul  cannot  submit  stupidly  to  suffering  like 
the  body ;  but  the  body  does  not  uphold  the  soul  as  the  soul 
upholds  the  body,  and  the  soul  sees  a  means  of  cure  in  the 
reflection  which  leads  to  the  needlewoman's  resource — the 
bushel  of  charcoal.  You  gave  me  a  whole  life  the  day  before 
yesterday,  when  you  said  that  if  Clotilde  still  refused  you,  you 
would  marry  me.  It  would  have  been  a  great  misfortune  for 
us  both ;  I  should  have  been  still  more  dead,  so  to  speak — for 
there  are  more  and  less  bitter  deaths.  The  world  would  never 
have  recognized  us. 

"  For  two  months  past  I  have  been  thinking  of  many  things, 
I  can  tell  you.  A  poor  girl  is  in  the  mire,  as  I  was  before  I 
went  into  the  convent ;  men  think  her  handsome,  they  make 
her  serve  their  pleasure  without  thinking  any  consideration 
necessary ;  they  pack  her  off  on  foot  after  fetching  her  in  a 
carriage ;  if  they  do  not  spit  in  her  face,  it  is  only  because  her 
beauty  preserves  her  from  such  an  indignity ;  but,  morally 
speaking,  they  do  worse.  Well,  and  if  this  despised  creature 
were  to  inherit  five  or  six  millions  of  francs,  she  would  be 
courted  by  princes,  bowed  to  with  respect  as  she  went  past  in 
her  carriage,  and  might  choose  among  the  oldest  names  in 
France  and  Navarre.  That  world  which  would  have  cried 
'  Raca '  to  us,  on  seeing  two  handsome  creatures  united  and 
happy,  always  did  honor  to  Madame  de  Stae'l,  in  spite  of  her 
'  romances  in  real  life,'  because  she  had  two  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  year.  The  world,  which  grovels  before  money  or 
glory,  will  not  bow  down  before  happiness  or  virtue — for  I 
could  have  done  good.  Oh  !  how  many  tears  I  would  have 
dried — as  many  as  I  have  shed,  I  believe.  Yes,  I  would  have 
lived  only  for  you  and  for  charity. 

"  These  are  the  thoughts  that  make  death  beautiful.  So  do 
not  lament,  my  dear.  Say  often  to  yourself:  '  There  were  two 
good  creatures,  two  beautiful  creatures,  who  both  died  for  me 


S94  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

ungrudgingly,  and  who  adored  me.'  Keep  a  memory  in  your 
heart  of  Coralie  and  Esther,  and  go  your  way  and  prosper. 
Do  you  recollect  the  day  when  you  pointed  out  to  me  a  shriv- 
eled old  woman,  in  a  melon-green  bonnet  and  a  puce  wrapper, 
all  over  black  grease-spots,  the  mistress  of  a  poet  before  the 
Revolution,  hardly  thawed  by  the  sun  though  she  was  sitting 
against  the  wall  of  the  Tuileries  and  fussing  over  a  pug — the 
vilest  of  pugs?  She  had  had  footmen  and  carriages,  you 
know,  and  a  fine  house !  And  I  said  to  you  then,  '  How 
much  better  to  be  dead  at  thirty  ! '  Well,  you  thought  I  was 
melancholy,  and  you  played  all  sorts  of  pranks  to  amuse  me, 
and  between  two  kisses  I  said :  '  Every  day  some  pretty  woman 
leaves  the  play  before  it  is  over ! '  And  I  do  not  want  to  see 
the  last  act ;  that  is  all. 

"  You  must  think  me  a  great  chatterbox ;  but  this  is  my  last 
effusion.  I  write  as  if  I  were  talking  to  you,  and  I  like  to 
talk  cheerfully.  I  have  always  had  a  horror  of  a  dressmaker 
pitying  herself.  You  know  I  knew  how  to  die  decently  once 
before,  on  my  return  from  that  fatal  opera-ball  where  the  men 
let  you  know  I  had  been  a  prostitute. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  love,  never  give  this  portrait  to  any  one! 
If  you  could  know  with  what  a  gush  of  love  I  have  sat  losing 
myself  in  your  eyes,  looking  at  them  with  rapture  during  a 
pause  I  allowed  myself,  you  would  feel,  as  you  gathered  up  the 
affection  with  which  I  have  tried  to  overlay  the  ivory,  that  the 
soul  of  your  little  pet  is  indeed  there. 

"A  dead  woman  craving  alms  !  That  is  a  funny  idea. 
Come,  I  must  learn  to  lie  quiet  in  the  grave. 

"You  have  no  idea  how  heroic  my  death  would  seem  to 
some  fools  if  they  could  know  that  Nucingen  last  night  offered 
me  two  millions  of  francs  if  I  would  love  him  as  I  love  you. 
He  will  be  handsomely  robbed  when  he  hears  that  I  have  kept 
my  word  and  died  of  him.  I  tried  all  I  could  still  to  breathe 
the  air  you  breathe.  I  said  to  the  fat  s'coundrel :  '  Do  you 
want  me  to  love  you  as  you  wish  ?  To  promise  even  that  I 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  395 

will  never  see  Lucien  again ? '  '  What  must  I  do? '  he  asked. 
'Give  me  the  two  millions  for  him.'  You  should  have  seen 
his  face  !  I  could  have  laughed,  if  it  had  not  been  so  tragical 
for  me. 

"  'Spare  yourself  the  trouble  of  refusing,'  said  I ;  '  I  see 
you  care  more  for  your  two  millions  than  for  me.  A  woman 
is  always  glad  to  know  at  what  she  is  valued  ! '  and  I  turned 
my  back  on  him. 

"  In  a  few  hours  the  old  rascal  will  know  that  I  was  not  in 
jest. 

"  Who  will  part  your  hair  as  nicely  as  I  do  ?  Pooh  !  I 
will  think  no  more  of  anything  in  life ;  I  have  but  five  minutes, 
I  give  them  to  God.  Do  not  be  jealous  of  Him,  dear  heart ; 
I  shall  speak  to  Him  of  you,  beseeching  Him  for  your  happi- 
ness as  the  price  of  my  death,  and  my  punishment  in  the  next 
world.  I  am  vexed  enough  at  having  to  go  to  hell.  I  should 
have  liked  to  see  the  angels,  to  know  if  they  are  like  you. 

"Farewell,  my  darling,  farewell  !  I  give  you  all  the  bless- 
ing of  my  woes.  Even  in  the  grave  I  am  your  Esther. 

"  It  is  striking  eleven.  I  have  said  my  last  prayers.  I  am 
going  to  bed  to  die.  Once  more,  farewell !  I  wish  that  the 
warmth  of  my  hand  could  leave  my  soul  there  where  I  press  a 
last  kiss — and  once  more  I  must  call  you  my  dearest  love, 
though  you  are  the  cause  of  the  death  of  your  ESTHER." 

A  vague  feeling  of  jealousy  tightened  on  the  magistrate's 
heart  as  he  read  this  letter,  the  only  letter  from  a  suicide  he 
had  ever  found  written  with  such  lightness,  though  it  was  a 
feverish  lightness,  and  the  last  effort  of  a  blind  affection. 

"  What  is  there  in  the  man  that  he  should  be  loved  so 
well?"  thought  he,  saying  what  every  man  says  who  has  not 
the  gift  of  attracting  women. 

"If  you  can  prove  not  merely  that  you  are  not  Jacques 
Collin  and  an  escaped  convict,  but  that  you  are  in  fact  Don 
Carlos  Herrera,  canon  of  Toledo,  and  secret  envoy  of  his 


396  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

majesty  Ferdinand  VII.,"  said  he,  addressing  the  prisoner, 
"you  will  be  released;  for  the  impartiality  demanded  by  my 
office  requires  me  to  tell  you  that  I  have  this  moment  received 
a  letter,  written  by  Mademoiselle  Esther  Gobseck,  in  which 
she  declares  her  intention  of  killing  herself,  and  expresses  sus- 
picions as  to  her  servants,  which  would  seem  to  point  to  them 
as  the  thieves  who  have  made  off  with  the  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs." 

As  he  spoke  Monsieur  Camusot  was  comparing  the  writing 
of  the  letter  with  that  of  the  will ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  self- 
evident  that  the  same  person  had  written  both. 

"  Monsieur,  )rou  were  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  believe  in  a 
murder ;  do  not  be  too  hasty  in  believing  in  a  theft." 

"  Heh !  "  said  Camusot,  scrutinizing  the  prisoner  with  a 
piercing  eye. 

"  Do  not  suppose  that  I  am  compromising  myself  by  telling 
you  that  the  sum  may  possibly  be  recovered,"  said  Jacques 
Collin,  making  the  judge  understand  that  he  saw  his  suspi- 
cions. "  That  poor  girl  was  much  loved  by  those  about  her ; 
and,  if  I  were  free,  I  would  undertake  to  search  for  this  money, 
which  no  doubt  belongs  to  the  being  I  love  best  in  the  world 
— to  Lucien  !  Will  you  allow  me  to  read  that  letter;  it  will 
not  take  long?  It  is  evidence  of  my  dear  boy's  innocence — 
you  cannot  fear  that  I  shall  destroy  it — nor  that  I  shall  talk 
about  it;  I  am  in  solitary  confinement." 

"  In  confinement !  You  will  be  so  no  longer,"  cried  the 
magistrate.  "  It  is  I  who  must  beg  you  to  get  well  as  soon  as 
possible.  Refer  to  your  ambassador  if  you  choose " 

And  he  handed  the  letter  to  Jacques  Collin.  Camusot  was 
glad  to  be  out  of  a  difficulty,  to  be  able  to  satisfy  the  public 
prosecutor  and  the  Mesdames  de  Maufrigneuse  and  de  Serizy. 
Nevertheless,  he  studied  his  prisoner's  face  with  cold  curiosity 
while  Collin  read  Esther's  letter ;  in  spite  of  the  apparent 
genuineness  of  the  feelings  it  expressed,  he  said  to  himself — 

"  But  it  is  a  face  worthy  of  the  hulks,  all  the  same  !  " 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  397 

"  That  is  the  way  to  love !  "  said  Jacques  Collin,  returning 
the  letter.  And  he  showed  Camusot  a  face  bathed  in  tears. 

"If  only  you  knew  him,"  he  went  on,  "so  youthful,  so 
innocent  a  soul,  so  splendidly  handsome,  a  child,  a  poet ! 
The  impulse  to  sacrifice  one's  self  to  him  is  irresistible,  to  sat- 
isfy his  lightest  wish.  That  dear  boy  is  so  fascinating  when  he 
chooses " 

"And  so,"  said  the  magistrate,  making  a  final  effort  to 
discover  the  truth,  "you  cannot  possibly  be  Jacques  Collin 
and " 

"No,  monsieur,"  replied  the  convict. 

And  Jacques  Collin  was  more  entirely  Don  Carlos  Herrera 
than  ever.  In  his  anxiety  to  complete  his  work  he  went  up 
to  the  judge,  led  him  to  the  window,  and  gave  himself  the 
airs  of  a  prince  of  the  church,  assuming  a  confidential  tone — 

"I  am  so  fond  of  that  boy,  monsieur,  that  if  it  were 
needful,  to  spare  that  idol  of  my  heart  a  mere  discomfort 
even,  that  I  should  be  the  criminal  you  take  me  for,  I  would 
surrender,"  said  he  in  an  undertone.  "  I  would  follow  the 
example  of  the  poor  girl  who  has  killed  herself  for  his  benefit. 
And  I  beg  you,  monsieur,  to  grant  me  a  favor — namely,  to 
set  Lucien  at  liberty  forthwith." 

"  My  duty  forbids  it,"  said  Camusot  very  good-naturedly; 
"  but  if  a  sinner  may  make  a  compromise  with  heaven,  justice 
too  has  its  softer  side,  and  if  you  can  give  me  sufficient  reasons 
— speak  ;  your  words  will  not  be  taken  down." 

"Well,  then,"  Jacques  Collin  went  on,  taken  in  by  Camu- 
sot's  apparent  good-will,  "  I  know  what  that  poor  boy  is  suffer- 
ing at  this  moment ;  he  is  capable  of  trying  to  kill  himself 
when  he  finds  himself  a  prisoner " 

"  Oh  !  as  to  that !  "  said  Camusot  with  a  shrug. 

"  You  do  not  know  whom  you  will  oblige  by  obliging  me," 
added  Jacques  Collin,  trying  to  harp  on  another  string.  "You 
will  be  doing  a  service  to  others  more  powerful  than  any  Com- 
tesse  de  Serizy  or  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  who  will  never 


398  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

forgive  you  for  having  had  their  letters  in  your  chambers " 

and  he  pointed  to  two  packets  of  perfumed  papers.  "  My 
order  has  a  good  memory." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Camusot,  "that  is  enough.  You  must 
find  better  reasons  to  give  me.  I  am  as  much  interested  in 
the  prisoner  as  in  public  vengeance." 

"  Believe  me,  then,  I  know  Lucien ;  he  has  the  soul  of  a  woman, 
of  a  poet,  and  a  Southerner,  without  persistency  or  will,"  said 
Jacques  Collin,  who  fancied  that  he  saw  that  he  had  won  the 
judge  over.  "You  are  convinced  of  the  young  man's  inno- 
cence, do  not  torture  him,  do  not  question  him.  Give  him 
that  letter,  tell  him  that  he  is  Esther's  heir,  and  restore  him 
to  freedom.  If  you  act  otherwise,  you  will  bring  despair  on 
yourself;  whereas,  if  you  simply  release  him,  I  will  explain  to 
you — keep  me  still  in  solitary  confinement — to-morrow,  or 
this  evening,  everything  that  may  strike  you  as  mysterious  in 
the  case,  and  the  reasons  for  the  persecution  of  which  I  am 
the  object.  But  it  will  be  at  the  risk  of  my  life ;  a  price  has 
been  set  on  my  head  these  six  years  past.  Lucien  free,  rich, 
and  married  to  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu,  and  my  task  on  earth 
will  be  done ;  I  shall  no  longer  try  to  save  my  skin.  My  perse- 
cutor was  a  spy  under  your  late  King." 

"What,  Corentin?" 

"  Ah !  Is  his  name  Corentin  ?  Thank  you,  monsieur. 
Well,  will  you  promise  to  do  as  I  ask  you? " 

"A  magistrate  can  make  no  promises.  Coquart,  tell  the 
usher  and  the  gendarmes  to  take  the  accused  back  to  the 
Conciergerie.  I  will  give  orders  that  you  are  to  have  a 
private  room,"  he  added  pleasantly,  with  a  slight  nod  to  the 
convict. 

Struck  by  Jacques  Collin's  request,  and  remembering  how 
he  had  insisted  that  he  wished  to  be  examined  first  as  a  privi- 
lege to  his  state  of  health,  Camusot's  suspicions  were  aroused 
once  more.  Allowing  his  vague  doubts  to  make  themselves 
heard,  he  noticed  that  the  self-styled  dying  man  was  walking 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  399 

off  with  the  strength  of  a  Hercules,  having  abandoned  all  the 
tricks  he  had  aped  so  well  on  appearing  before  the  magistrate. 

"Monsieur !  " 

Jacques  Collin  turned  round. 

"  Notwithstanding  your  refusal  to  sign  the  document,  my 
clerk  will  read  you  the  minutes  of  your  examination,"  said 
Camusot,  turning  to  Coquart. 

The  prisoner  was  evidently  in  excellent  health ;  the  readi- 
ness with  which  he  came  back,  and  sat  down  by  the  clerk, 
was  a  fresh  light  to  the  magistrate's  mind. 

"You  have  got  well  very  suddenly  !  "  said  Camusot. 

"  Caught !  "  thought  Jacques;  and  he  replied — 

"Joy,  monsieur,  is  the  only  panacea.  That  letter,  the 
proof  of  innocence  of  which  I  had  no  doubt — that  is  indeed 
the  grand  remedy." 

The  judge  kept  a  meditative  eye  on  the  prisoner  when  the 
usher  and  the  gendarmes  again  took  him  in  charge.  Then, 
with  a  start  like  a  waking  man,  he  tossed  Esther's  letter  across 
to  the  table  where  his  clerk  sat,  saying — 

"Coquart,  copy  that  letter." 

If  it  is  natural  to  man  to  be  suspicious  as  to  some  favor 
required  of  him  when  it  is  antagonistic  to  his  interests  or  his 
duty,  and  sometimes  even  when  it  is  a  matter  of  indifference, 
this  feeling  is  law  to  an  examining  magistrate.  The  more  this 
prisoner — whose  identity  was  not  yet  ascertained — pointed  to 
clouds  on  the  horizon  in  the  event  of  Lucien's  being  examined, 
the  more  necessary  did  the  interrogatory  seem  to  Camusot. 
Even  if  this  formality  had  not  been  required  by  the  Code  and 
by  common  practice,  it  was  indispensable  as  bearing  on  the 
identification  of  the  Abbe  Carlos.  There  is  in  every  walk  of 
life  the  business  conscience.  In  default  of  curiosity  Camusot 
would  have  examined  Lucien  as  he  had  examined  Jacques 
Collin,  with  all  the  cunning  which  the  most  honest  magistrate 
allows  himself  to  use  in  such  cases.  The  services  he  might 
render  and  his  own  promotion  were  secondary  in  Camusot's 


400  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS, 

mind  to  his  anxiety  to  know  or  guess  the  truth,  even  if  he 
should  never  tell  it. 

He  stood  drumming  on  the  window-pane  while  following 
the  river-like  current  of  his  conjectures,  for  in  these  moods 
thought  is  like  a  stream  flowing  through  many  countries. 
Magistrates,  in  love  with  truth,  are  like  jealous  women  ;  they 
give  way  to  a  thousand  hypotheses,  and  probe  them  with  the 
dagger  point  of  suspicion,  as  the  sacrificing  priest  of  old 
eviscerated  his  victims ;  thus  they  arrive,  not  perhaps  at  truth, 
but  at  probability,  and  at  last  see  the  truth  beyond.  A  woman 
cross-questions  the  man  she  loves  as  the  judge  cross-questions 
a  criminal.  In  such  a  frame  of  mind,  a  glance,  a  word,  a 
tone  of  voice,  the  slightest  hesitation  is  enough  to  certify  the 
hidden  fact — treason  or  crime. 

"The  style  in  which  he  depicted  his  devotion  to  his  son — 
if  he  is  his  son — is  enough  to  make  me  think  that  he  was  in 
the  girl's  house  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  plunder;  and  never  sus- 
pecting that  the  dead  woman's  pillow  covered  a  will,  he  no 
doubt  annexed,  for  his  son,  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  as  a  precaution.  That  is  why  he  can  promise  to 
recover  the  money. 

"  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  owes  it  to  himself  and  to  justice  to 
account  for  his  father's  position  in  the  world 

"And  he  offers  me  the  protection  of  his  order — his  order! — 
if  I  do  not  examine  Lucien " 

This  thought  gave  him  pause. 

As  has  been  seen,  a  magistrate  conducts  an  examination 
exactly  as  he  thinks  proper.  He  is  at  liberty  to  display  his 
acumen  or  be  absolutely  blunt.  An  examination  may  be  every- 
thing or  nothing.  Therein  lies  the  favor. 

Camusot  rang.  The  usher  had  returned.  He  was  sent  to 
fetch  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  with  an  injunction  to 
prohibit  his  speaking  to  anybody  on  his  way  up.  It  was  by 
this  time  two  in  the  afternoon. 

"There  is  some  secret,"  said  the  judge  to  himself,  "and 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  401 

that  secret  must  be  very  important.  My  amphibious  friend — 
since  he  is  neither  priest,  nor  secular,  nor  convict,  nor  Span- 
iard, though  he  wants  to  hinder  his  protege  from  letting  out 
something  dreadful — argues  thus:  'The  poet  is  weak  and 
effeminate ;  he  is  not  like  me,  a  Hercules  in  diplomacy,  and 
you  will  easily  wring  our  secret  from  him.'  Well,  we  will  get 
everything  out  of  this  innocent." 

And  he  sat  tapping  the  edge  of  his  table  with  the  ivory 
paper-knife,  while  Coquart  copied  Esther's  letter. 

How  whimsical  is  the  action  of  our  faculties  !  Camusot 
conceived  of  every  crime  as  possible,  and  overlooked  the  only 
one  that  the  prisoner  had  now  committed — the  forgery  of  the 
will  for  Lucien's  advantage.  Let  those  whose  envy  vents  itself 
on  magistrates  think  for  a  moment  of  their  life  spent  in  per- 
petual suspicion,  of  the  torments  these  men  must  inflict  on 
their  minds,  for  civil  cases  are  not  less  tortuous  than  criminal 
examinations,  and  it  will  occur  to  them,  perhaps,  that  the 
priest  and  the  lawyer  wear  an  equally  heavy  coat  of  mail, 
equally  furnished  with  spikes  in  the  lining.  However,  every 
profession  has  its  hair  shirt  and  its  Chinese  puzzles. 

It  was  about  two  o'clock  when  Monsieur  Camusot  saw 
Lucien  de  Rubempre  come  in,  pale,  worn,  his  eyes  red  and 
swollen — in  short,  in  a  state  of  dejection  which  enabled  the 
magistrate  to  compare  nature  with  art,  the  really  dying  man 
with  the  stage  performance.  His  walk  from  the  Conciergerie 
to  the  judge's  chambers,  between  two  gendarmes,  and  preceded 
by  the  usher,  had  put  the  crowning  touch  to  Lucien's  de- 
spair. It  is  the  poet's  nature  to  prefer  execution  to  con- 
demnation. 

As  he  saw  this  being,  so  completely  bereft  of  the  moral 
courage  which  is  the  essence  of  a  judge,  and  which  the  last 
prisoner  had  so  strongly  manifested,  Monsieur  Camusot  dis- 
dained the  easy  victory ;  and  this  scorn  enabled  him  to  strike 
a  decisive  blow,  since  it  left  him,  on  the  ground,  that  horrible 
26 


402  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

clearness  of  mind  which  the  marksman  feels  when  he  is  firing 
at  a  puppet. 

"  Collect  yourself,  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  ;  you  are  in  the 
presence  of  a  magistrate  who  is  eager  to  repair  the  mischief 
done  involuntarily  by  the  law  when  a  man  is  taken  into  cus- 
tody on  suspicion  that  has  no  foundation.  I  believe  you  to 
be  innocent,  and  you  will  soon  be  at  liberty.  Here  is  the 
evidence  of  your  innocence ;  it  is  a  letter  kept  for  you  during 
your  absence  by  your  janitor's  wife ;  she  has  just  brought  it 
here.  In  the  commotion  caused  by  the  visitation  of  justice 
and  the  news  of  your  arrest  at  Fontainebleau,  the  woman  forgot 
the  letter  which  was  written  by  Mademoiselle  Esther  Gobseck. 
Read  it !  " 

Lucien  took  the  letter,  read  it,  and  melted  into  tears.  He 
sobbed,  and  could  not  say  a  single  word.  At  the  end  of  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which  Lucien  with  great  difficulty 
recovered  his  self-command,  the  clerk  laid  before  him  the 
copy  of  the  letter,  and  begged  him  to  sign  a  footnote  certify- 
ing that  the  copy  was  faithful  to  the  original,  and  might  be 
used  in  its  stead  "on  all  occasions  in  the  course  of  this  pre- 
liminary inquiry,"  giving  him  the  option  of  comparing  the 
two;  but  Lucien,  of  course,  took  Coquart's  word  for  its 
accuracy. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  lawyer,  with  friendly  good-nature, 
"  it  is  nevertheless  impossible  that  I  should  release  you  with- 
out carrying  out  the  legal  formalities,  and  asking  you  some 
questions.  It  is  almost  as  a  witness  that  I  require  you  to 
answer.  To  such  a  man  as  you  I  think  it  is  almost  unneces- 
sary to  point  out  that  the  oath  to  tell  the  whole  truth  is  not 
in  this  case  a  mere  appeal  to  your  conscience,  but  a  necessity 
for  your  own  sake,  your  position  having  been  for  a  time  some- 
what ambiguous.  The  truth  can  do  you  no  harm,  be  it  what 
it  may;  falsehood  will  send  you  to  trial-,  and  compel  me  to 
send  you  back  to  the  Conciergerie ;  whereas,  if  you  answer 
fully  to  my  questions,  you  will  sleep  to-night  in  your  own 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  403 

house  and  be  rehabilitated  by  this  paragraph  in  the  papers : 
'  Monsieur  de  Rubempre,  who  was  arrested  yesterday  at  Fon- 
tairiebleau,  was  set  at  liberty  after  a  very  brief  examination.' ' 

This  speech  made  a  deep  impression  on  Lucien ;  and  the 
judge,  seeing  the  temper  of  his  prisoner,  added — 

"I  may  repeat  to  you  that  you  were  suspected  of  being 
accessory  to  the  murder  by  poison  of  this  Demoiselle  Esther. 
Her  suicide  is  clearly  proved,  and  there  is  an  end  of  that ; 
but  a  sum  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  has  been 
stolen,  which  she  had  disposed  of  by  will,  and  you  are  the 
legatee.  This  is  a  felony.  The  crime  was  perpetrated  before 
the  discovery  of  the  will. 

"  Now  there  is  reason  to  suppose  that  a  person  who  loves 
you  as  much  as  you  loved  Mademoiselle  Esther  committed 
the  theft  for  your  benefit.  Do  not  interrupt  me,"  Camusot 
went  on,  seeing  that  Lucien  was  about  to  speak,  and  com- 
manding silence  by  a  gesture  ;  "  I  am  asking  you  nothing  so 
far.  I  am  anxious  to  make  you  understand  how  deeply  your 
honor  is  concerned  in  this  question.  Give  up  the  false  and 
contemptible  notion  of  the  honor  binding  two  accomplices, 
and  tell  the  whole  truth." 

The  reader  must  already  have  observed  the  extreme  dispro- 
portion of  the  weapons  in  this  conflict  between  the  prisoner 
under  suspicion  and  the  examining  judge.  Absolute  denial 
when  skillfully  used  has  in  its  favor  its  positive  simplicity,  and 
sufficiently  defends  the  criminal ;  but  it  is,  in  a  way,  a  coat 
of  mail  which  becomes  crushing  as  soon  as  the  stiletto  of 
cross-examination  finds  a  joint  in  it.  As  soon  as  mere  denial 
is  ineffectual  in  face  of  certain  proven  facts,  the  examinee  is 
entirely  at  the  judge's  mercy. 

Now,  supposing  that  a  sort  of  half-criminal,  like  Lucien, 
might,  if  he  were  saved  from  the  first  shipwreck  of  his  honesty, 
amend  his  ways,  and  become  a  useful  member  of  society,  he 
will  be  lost  in  the  pitfalls  of  his  examination. 

The  judge  has  the  driest  possible  record  drawn  up  of  the 


404  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

proceedings,  a  faithful  analysis  of  the  questions  and  answers ; 
but  no  trace  remains  of  his  insidiously  paternal  addresses  or 
his  captious  remonstrances,  such  as  this  speech.  The  judges 
of  the  superior  courts  see  the  results,  but  see  nothing  of  the 
means.  Hence,  as  some  experienced  persons  have  thought, 
it  would  be  a  good  plan  that,  as  in  England,  a  jury  should 
hear  the  examination.  For  a  short  while  France  enjoyed  the 
benefit  of  this  system.  Under  the  Code  of  Brumaire  of  the 
year  IV.,  this  body  was  known  as  the  examining  jury,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  the  trying  jury.  As  to  the  final  trial,  if  we 
should  restore  the  examining  jury,  it  would  have  to  be  the 
function  of  the  superior  courts  without  the  aid  of  a  jury. 

"And  now,"  said  Camusot,  after  a  pause,  "what  is  your 
name  ?  Attention,  Monsieur  Coquart  ?  "  said  he  to  the  clerk. 

"  Lucien  Chardon  de  Rubempre." 

"And  you  were  born ?" 

"At  Angoullme."  And  Lucien  named  the  day,  month, 
and  year. 

"You  inherited  no  fortune?" 

"  None  whatever." 

"  And  yet,  during  your  first  residence  in  Paris,  you  spent 
a  great  deal,  as  compared  with  your  small  income?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur;  but  at  that  time  I  had  a  most  devoted 
friend  in  Mademoiselle  Coralie,  and  I  was  so  unhappy  as  to 
lose  her.  It  was  my  grief  at  her  death  that  made  me  return 
to  my  country  home." 

"That  is  right,  monsieur,"  said  Camusot ;  "I  commend 
jour  frankness;  it  will  be  thoroughly  appreciated." 

Lucien,  it  will  be  seen,  was  prepared  to  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it. 

"  On  your  return  to  Paris  you  lived  even  more  expensively 
than  before,"  Camusot  went  on.  "You  lived  like  a  man 
who  might  have  about  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"Who  supplied  you  with  the  money?" 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  405 

"My  protector,  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera." 

"  Where  did  you  meet  him  ?  " 

"We  met  when  traveling,  just  as  I  was  about  to  be  quit  of 
life  by  committing  suicide." 

"You  never  heard  him  spoken  of  by  your  family — by  your 
mother?" 

"  Never." 

"  Can  you  remember  the  year  and  the  month  when  you  first 
became  connected  with  Mademoiselle  Esther?  " 

"Toward  the  end  of  1823,  at  a  small  theatre  on  the 
boulevard." 

"At  first  she  was  an  expense  to  you? " 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"Lately,  in  the  hope  of  marrying  Mademoiselle  de  Grand- 
lieu,  you  purchased  the  ruins  of  the  Chateau  de  Rubempre, 
you  added  land  to  the  value  of  a  million  francs,  and  you  told 
the  family  of  Grandlieu  that  your  sister  and  your  brother-in- 
law  had  just  come  into  a  considerable  fortune,  and  that  their 
liberality  had  supplied  you  with  the  money.  Did  you  tell  the 
Grandlieus  this,  monsieur?" 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  You  do  not  know  the  reason  why  the  marriage  was  broken 
off?" 

"Not  in  the  least,  monsieur." 

"Well,  the  Grandlieus  sent  one  of  the  most  respectable 
attorneys  in  Paris  to  see  your  brother-in-law  and  inquire  into 
the  facts.  At  Angouleme  this  lawyer,  from  the  statements  of 
your  sister  and  brother-in-law,  learned  that  they  not  only  had 
hardly  lent  you  any  money,  but  also  that  their  inheritance 
consisted  of  land,  of  some  extent  no  doubt,  but  that  the 
whole  amount  of  invested  capital  was  not  more  than  about 
two  hundred  thousand  francs.  Now  you  cannot  wonder  that 
such  people  as  the  Grandlieus  should  reject  a  fortune  of  which 
the  source  is  more  than  doubtful.  This,  monsieur,  is  what  a 
lie  has  led  to " 


406  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Lucien  was  petrified  by  this  revelation,  and  the  little 
presence  of  mind  he  had  preserved  deserted  him. 

"  Remember,"  said  Camusot,  "  that  the  police  and  the  law 
know  all  they  want  to  know.  And  now,"  he  went  on,  recol- 
lecting Jacques  Collin's  assumed  paternity,  "do  you  know 
who  this  pretended  Carlos  Herrera  is  ?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur;  but  I  knew  it  too  late." 

"  Too  late  !     How?     Explain  yourself." 

"  He  is  not  a  priest,  not  a  Spaniard,  he  is " 

"An  escaped  convict?"  said  the  judge  eagerly. 

"Yes,"  replied  Lucien,  "when  he  told  me  the  fatal  secret, 
I  was  already  under  obligations  to  him ;  I  had  fancied  I  was 
befriended  by  a  respectable  priest." 

"Jacques  Collin "  said  Monsieur  Camusot,  beginning 

a  sentence. 

''Yes,"  said  Lucien,  "his  name  is  Jacques  Collin." 

"Very  good.  Jacques  Collin  has  just  now  been  identified 
by  another  person,  and  though  he  denies  it,  he  does  so,  I 
believe,  in  your  interest.  But  I  asked  whether  you  knew  who 
the  man  is  in  order  to  prove  another  of  Jacques  Collin's  im- 
postures." 

Lucien  felt  as  though  he  had  hot  iron  in  his  inside  as  he 
heard  this  alarming  statement. 

"  Do  you  not  know,"  Camusot  went  on,  "  that  in  order  to 
give  color  to  the  extraordinary  affection  he  has  for  you,  he 
declares  that  he  is  your  father?" 

"  He  !     My  father  ?     Oh,  monsieur,  did  he  tell  you  that  ?  " 

"  Have  you  any  suspicion  of  where  the  'money  came  from 
that  he  used  to  give  you  ?  For,  if  I  am  to  believe  the  evidence 
of  the  letter  you  have  in  your  hand,  that  poor  girl,  Made- 
moiselle Esther,  must  have  done  you  lately  the  same  services 
as  Coralie  formerly  rendered  you.  Still,  for  some  years,  as 
you  have  just  admitted,  you  lived  very  handsomely  without 
receiving  anything  from  her." 

"It  is  I  who  should  ask  you,  monsieur,  whence  convicts 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  407 

get  their  money  !     Jacques  Collin  my  father  !     Oh,  my  poor 
mother !  "  and  Lucien  burst  into  tears. 

"Coquart,  read  out  to  the  prisoner  that  part  of  Carlos 
Herrera's  examination  in  which  he  said  that  Lucien  de  Ru- 
bempre  was  his  son." 

The  poet  listened  in  silence,  and  with  a  look  that  was  ter- 
rible to  behold. 

"  I  am  done  for !  "  he  cried. 

"A  man  is  not  done  for  who  is  faithful  to  the  path  of  honor 
and  truth,"  said  the  judge. 

"But  you  will  commit  Jacques  Collin  for  trial?"  said 
Lucien. 

"Undoubtedly,"  said  Camusot,  who  aimed  at  making 
Lucien  talk.  "  Speak  out." 

But  in  spite  of  all  his  persuasion  and  remonstrances,  Lucien 
would  say  no  more.  Reflection  had  come  too  late,  as  it  does 
to  all  men  who  are  the  slaves  of  impulse.  There  lies  the 
difference  between  the  poet  and  the  man  of  action ;  one  gives 
way  to  feeling  to  reproduce  it  in  living  images,  his  judgment 
comes  in  after ;  the  other  feels  and  judges  both  at  once. 

Lucien  remained  pale  and  gloomy ;  he  saw  himself  at  the 
bottom  of  the  precipice,  down  which  the  examining  judge  had 
rolled  him  by  the  apparent  candor  which  had  entrapped  his 
poet's  soul.  He  had  betrayed,  not  his  benefactor,  but  an 
accomplice  who  had  defended  their  position  with  the  courage 
of  a  lion,  and  a  skill  that  showed  no  flaw.  Where  Jacques 
Collin  had  saved  everything  by  his  daring,  Lucien,  the  man 
of  brains,  had  lost  all  by  his  lack  of  intelligence  and  reflection. 
This  infamous  lie  against  which  he  revolted  had  screened  a 
yet  more  scandalous  truth. 

Utterly  confounded  by  the  judge's  skill,  overpowered  by 
his  cruel  dexterity,  by  the  swiftness  of  the  blows  he  had  dealt 
him  while  making  use  of  the  errors  of  a  life  laid  bare  as  probes 
to  search  his  conscience,  Lucien  sat  like  an  animal  which  the 
butcher's  pole-axe  had  failed  to  kill.  Free  and  innocent  when 


408  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

he  came  before  the  judge,  in  a  moment  his  own  avowal  had 
made  him  feel  criminal. 

To  crown  all,  as  a  final  grave  irony,  Camusot,  cold  and 
calm,  pointed  out  to  Lucien  that  his  self-betrayal  was  the  re- 
sult of  a  misapprehension.  Camusot  was  thinking  of  Jacques 
Collin's  announcing  himself  as  Lucien's  father;  while  Lucien, 
wholly  absorbed  by  his  fear  of  seeing  his  confederacy  with  an 
escaped  convict  made  public,  had  imitated  the  famous  inad- 
vertency of  the  murderers  of  Ibycus. 

One  of  Royer-Collard's  most  famous  achievements  was  pro- 
claiming the  constant  triumph  of  natural  feeling  over  engrafted 
sentiments,  and  defending  the  cause  of  anterior  oaths  by  as- 
serting that  the  law  of  hospitality,  for  instance,  ought  to  be 
regarded  as  binding  to  the  point  of  negativing  the  obliga- 
tion of  a  judicial  oath.  He  promulgated  this  theory,  in  the 
face  of  the  world,  from  the  French  tribune ;  he  boldly  upheld 
conspirators,  showing  that  it  was  human  to  be  true  to  friend- 
ship rather  than  to  the  tyrannical  laws  brought  out  of  the 
social  arsenal  to  be  adjusted  to  circumstances.  And,  indeed, 
natural  rights  have  laws  which  have  never  been  codified,  but 
which  are  more  effectual  and  better  known  than  those  laid 
down  by  society.  Lucien  had  misapprehended,  to  his  cost, 
the  law  of  cohesion,  which  required  him  to  be  silent  and  leave 
Jacques  Collin  to  protect  himself;  nay,  more,  he  had  accused 
him.  In  his  own  interests,  for  his  own  sake  the  man  ought 
always  to  be,  to  him,  Carlos  Herrera. 

Monsieur  Camusot  was  rejoicing  in  his  triumph ;  he  had 
secured  two  criminals.  He  had  crushed  with  the  hand  of 
justice  one  of  the  favorites  of  fashion,  and  he  had  found  the 
undiscoverable  Jacques  Collin.  He  would  be  regarded  as  one 
of  the  cleverest  of  examining  judges.  So  he  left  his  prisoner 
in  peace;  but  he  was  studying  this  speechless  consternation, 
and  he  saw  drops  of  sweat  collect  on  the  miserable  face,  swell 
and  fall,  mingled  with  two  streams  of  tears. 

"Why  should  you  weep,  Monsieur  de  Rubempre?     You 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  409 

are,  as  I  have  told  you,  Mademoiselle  Esther's  legatee,  she 
having  no  heirs  nor  near  relations,  and  her  property  amounts 
to  nearly  eight  millions  of  francs  if  the  lost  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  are  recovered." 

This  was  the  last  blow  to  the  poor  wretch.  "  If  you  do  not 
lose  your  head  for  ten  minutes,"  Jacques  Collin  had  said  in 
his  note,  and  Lucien  by  keeping  cool  would  have  gained  all 
his  desire.  He  might  have  paid  his  debt  to  Jacques  Collin 
and  have  cut  him  adrift,  have  been  rich,  and  have  married 
Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu.  Nothing  could  more  eloquently 
demonstrate  the  power  with  which  the  examining  judge  is 
armed,  as  a  consequence  of  the  isolation  or  separation  of  per- 
sons under  suspicion,  or  the  value  of  such  a  communication  as 
Asia  had  conveyed  to  Jacques  Collin. 

"Ah,  monsieur!"  replied  Lucien,  with  the  satirical  bit- 
terness of  a  man  who  makes  a  pedestal  of  his  utter  overthrow, 
"  how  appropriate  is  the  phrase  in  legal  slang  '  to  undergo 
examination.'  For  my  part,  if  I  had  to  choose  between  the 
physical  torture  of  past  ages  and  the  moral  torture  of  our  day, 
I  would  not  hesitate  to  prefer  the  sufferings  inflicted  of  old  by 
the  executioner.  What  more  do  you  want  of  me?  "  he  added 
haughtily. 

"In  this  place,  monsieur,"  said  the  magistrate,  answering 
the  poet's  pride  with  mocking  arrogance,  "1  alone  have  a 
right  to  ask  questions." 

"I  had  the  right  to  refuse  to  answer  them,"  muttered  the 
hapless  Lucien,  whose  wits  had  come  back  to  him  with  per- 
fect lucidity. 

"  Coquart,  read  the  minutes  to  the  prisoner." 

"I  am  the  prisoner  once  more,"  said  Lucien  to  himself. 

While  the  clerk  was  reading,  Lucien  came  to  a  determina- 
tion which  compelled  him  to  smooth  down  Monsieur  Camusot. 
When  Coquart's  drone  ceased,  the  poet  started  like  a  man 
who  has  slept  through  a  noise  to  which  his  ears  are  ac- 
customed, and  who  is  roused  by  its  cessation. 


410  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"You  have  to  sign  the  report  of  your  examination,"  said 
the  judge. 

"And  am  I  then  at  liberty?  "  asked  Lucien,  ironical  in  his 
turn. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Camusot ;  "but  to-morrow,  after  being 
confronted  with  Jacques  Collin,  you  will  no  doubt  be  free. 
Justice  must  now  ascertain  whether  or  not  you  are  accessory 
to  the  crimes  this  man  may  have  committed  since  his  escape 
so  long  ago  as  1820.  However,  you  are  no  longer  in  the 
secret  cells.  I  will  write  to  the  governor  to  give  you  a  better 
room." 

"  Shall  I  find  writing  materials?" 

"You  can  have  anything  supplied  to  you  that  you  ask  for; 
I  will  give  orders  to  that  effect  by  the  usher  who  will  take  you 
back." 

Lucien  mechanically  signed  the  report  and  initialed  the 
notes  in  obedience  to  Coquart's  indications  with  the  meekness 
of  a  resigned  victim.  A  single  fact  will  show  what  a  state  he 
was  in  better  than  the  minutest  description.  The  announce- 
ment that  he  would  be  confronted  with  Jacques  Collin  had  at 
once  dried  the  drops  of  sweat  from  his  brow,  and  his  dry  eyes 
glittered  with  a  terrible  light.  In  short,  he  became  in  an 
instant,  as  brief  as  a  lightning  flash,  what  Jacques  Collin  was — 
a  man  of  iron. 

In  natures  like  that  of  Lucien's,  which  Jacques  Collin  had 
so  thoroughly  fathomed,  these  sudden  transitions  from  a  state 
of  absolute  demoralization  to  one  that  is,  so  to  speak,  metallic 
— so  extreme  is  the  tension  of  every  vital  force — are  the  most 
startling  phenomena  of  mental  vitality.  The  will  surges  up 
like  the  lost  waters  of  a  spring ;  it  diffuses  itself  throughout  the 
machinery  that  lies  ready  for  the  action  of  the  unknown  matter 
that  constitutes  it ;  and  then  the  corpse  is  a  man  again,  and 
the  man  rushes  on  full  of  energy  for  a  supreme  struggle. 

Lucien  laid  Esther's  letter  next  his  heart,  with  the  miniature 
she  had  returned  to  him.  Then  he  haughtily  bowed  to  Mon- 


THE   HARLOT S  PROGRESS.  411 

sieur  Camusot,  and  went  off  with  a  firm  step  down  the  corri- 
dors, between  two  gendarmes. 

"  That  is  an  utter  scoundrel !  "  said  the  judge  to  his  clerk, 
to  avenge  himself  for  the  crushing  scorn  the  poet  had  dis- 
played. "  He  thought  he  might  save  himself  by  betraying 
his  accomplice." 

"Of  the  two,"  said  Coquart  timidly,  "the  convict  is  the 
better  man." 

"You  are  free  for  the  -rest  of  the  day,  Coquart,"  said  the 
lawyer.  "We  have  done  enough.  Send  away  any  case  that 
is  waiting,  to  be  called  to-morrow.  Ah  !  stay,  you  must  go  at 
once  to  the  public  prosecutor's  chambers  and  ask  if  he  is  still 
there  ;  if  so,  ask  him  if  he  can  give  me  a  few  minutes.  Yes; 
he  will  not  be  gone,"  he  added,  looking  at  a  common  clock 
in  a  wooden  case  painted  green  with  gilt  lines.  "  It  is  but  a 
quarter-past  three." 

These  examinations,  which  are  so  quickly  read,  being  writ- 
ten down  at  full  length,  questions  and  answers  alike,  take  up 
an  enormous  amount  of  time.  This  is  one  of  the  reasons  of 
the  slowness  of  these  preliminaries  to  a  trial  and  of  these  im- 
prisonments "on  suspicion."  To  the  poor  this  is  ruin,  to 
the  rich  it  is  disgrace  ;  to  them  only  immediate  release  can  in 
any  degree  repair,  so  far  as  possible,  the  disaster  of  an  arrest. 

This  is  why  the  two  scenes  here  related  had  taken  up  the 
whole  of  the  time  spent  by  Asia  in  deciphering  her  master's 
orders,  in  getting  a  duchess  out  of  her  boudoir,  and  putting 
some  energy  into  Madame  de  Se'rizy. 

At  this  moment  Camusot,  who  was  anxious  to  get  the  full 
benefit  of  his  cleverness,  took  the  two  documents,  read  them 
through,  and  promised  himself  that  he  would  show  them  to 
the  public  prosecutor  and  take  his  opinion  on  them.  During 
this  meditation,  his  usher  came  back  to  tell  him  that  Madame 
la  Comtesse  de  Serizy's  manservant  insisted  on  speaking  with 
him.  At  a  nod  from  Camusot  a  servant  out  of  livery  came  in, 
looked  first  at  the  usher,  and  then  at  the  magistrate,  and  said, 


412  THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS. 

"  Is  it  that  I  have  the  honor  of  speaking  to  Monsieur  Camu- 
sot?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  judge  and  his  clerk. 

Camusot  took  a  note  which  the  servant  offered  him,  and 
read  as  follows  : 

"For  the  sake  of  many  interests  which  will  be  obvious  to 
you,  my  dear  Camusot,  do  not  examine  Monsieur  de  Rubem- 
pr6.  We  have  brought  ample  proofs  of  his  innocence  that  he 
may  be  released  forthwith. 

"  D.  DE  MAUFRIGNEUSE. 
"  L.  DE  SERIZY. 
"P.  S.— Burn  this  note  before  the  bearer." 

Camusot  understood  too  late  that  he  had  blundered  prepos- 
terously in  laying  snares  for  Lucien,  and  he  began  by  obeying 
the  two  fine  ladies — he  lighted  a  taper,  and  burnt  the  letter 
written  by  the  duchess.  The  man  bowed  respectfully. 

"Then  Madame  de  Serizy  is  coming  here?"  asked 
Camusot. 

"The  carriage  was  being  brought  round." 

At  this  moment  Coquart  came  in  to  tell  Monsieur  Camusot 
that  the  public  prosecutor  expected  him. 

Oppressed  by  the  blunder  he  had  committed,  in  view  of  his 
ambition,  though  to  the  better  ends  of  justice,  the  lawyer,  in 
whom  seven  years'  experience  had  perfected  the  sharpness 
that  comes  to  a  man  who  in  his  practice  has  had  to  measure 
his  wits  against  the  grisettes  of  Paris,  was  anxious  to  have  some 
shield  against  the  resentment  of  two  women  of  fashion.  The 
taper  in  which  he  had  burnt  the  note  was  still  alight,  and  he 
used  it  to  seal  up  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse's  notes  to 
Lucien — about  thirty  in  all — and  Madame  de  Serizy's  some- 
what voluminous  correspondence. 

Then  he  waited  on  the  public  prosecutor. 

The  Palais  de  Justice  is  a  perplexing  maze  of  buildings 


THE  HARLOTS  PROGRESS.  413 

piled  one  above  another,  some  fine  and  dignified,  others  very 
mean,  the  whole  disfigured  by  its  lack  of  unity.  The  Salle 
des  Pas-Perdus  is  the  largest  known  hall,  but  its  nakedness  is 
hideous,  and  distresses  the  eye.  This  vast  cathedral  of  the 
law  crushes  the  Supreme  Court.  The  Galerie  Marchande 
ends  in  two  drain-like  passages.  From  this  corridor  there  is 
a  double  staircase,  a  little  larger  than  that  of  the  Criminal 
Courts,  and  under  it  a  large  double  door.  The  stairs  lead 
down  to  one  of  the  Assize  Courts,  and  the  doors  open  into 
another.  In  some  years  the  number  of  crimes  committed  in 
the  circuit  of  the  Seine  is  great  enough  to  necessitate  the 
sitting  of  two  courts. 

Close  by  are  the  public  prosecutor's  offices,  the  attorney's 
room  and  library,  the  chambers  of  the  attorney-general,  and 
those  of  the  public  prosecutor's  deputies.  All  these  purlieus, 
to  use  a  generic  term,  communicate  by  narrow  spiral  stairs 
and  the  dark  passages,  which  are  a  disgrace  to  the  architecture 
not  of  Paris  only,  but  of  all  France.  The  interior  arrange- 
ment of  the  sovereign  court  of  justice  outdoes  our  prisons  in 
all  that  is  most  hideous.  The  writer  describing  our  manners 
and  customs  would  shrink  from  the  necessity  of  depicting  the 
squalid  corridor  of  about  three  feet  in  width,  in  which  the 
witnesses  wait  in  the  Superior  Criminal  Court.  As  to  the 
stove  which  warms  the  court  itself,  it  would  disgrace  a  cafe 
on  the  Boulevard  Mont-Parnasse. 

The  public  prosecutor's  private  room  forms  part  of  an 
octagon  wing  flanking  the  Galerie  Marchande,  built  out 
recently  in  regard  to  the  age  of  the  structure,  over  the  prison 
yard,  outside  the  women's  quarters.  All  this  part  of  the 
Palais  is  overshadowed  by  the  lofty  and  noble  edifice  of  the 
Sainte-Chapelle.  And  all  is  solemn  and  silent. 

Monsieur  de  Granville,  a  worthy  successor  of  the  great 
magistrates  of  the  old  parliament,  would  not  leave  the  Palais 
without  coming  to  some  conclusion  in  the  matter  of  Lucien. 
He  expected  to  hear  from  Camusot,  and  the  judge's  message 


414  THE   HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

had  plunged  him  into  the  involuntary  suspense  which  waiting 
produces  on  even  the  strongest  minds.  He  had  been  sitting 
in  the  window-bay  of  his  private  room ;  he  rose,  and  walked 
up  and  down,  for  having  lingered  in  the  morning  to  intercept 
Camusot,  he  had  found  him  dull  of  apprehension ;  he  was 
vaguely  uneasy  and  worried. 

And  this  was  why : 

The  dignity  of  his  high  functions  forbade  his  attempting  to 
fetter  the  perfect  independence  of  the  inferior  judge,  and  yet 
this  trial  nearly  touched  the  honor  and  good  name  of  his  best 
friend  and  warmest  supporter,  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  minister 
of  State,  member  of  the  Privy  Council,  vice-president  of  the 
State  Council,  and  prospective  chancellor  of  the  Realm,  in 
the  event  of  the  death  of  the  noble  old  man  who  held  that 
august  office.  It  was  Monsieur  de  Serizy's  misfortune  to 
adore  his  wife  "  through  fire  and  water,"  and  he  alway  shielded 
her  with  his  protection.  Now  the  public  prosecutor  fully 
understood  the  terrible  fuss  that  would  be  made  in  the  world 
and  at  court  if  a  crime  should  be  proved  against  a  man  whose 
name  had  been  so  often  and  so  malignantly  linked  with  that 
of  the  countess. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  sighed,  folding  his  arms,  "  formerly  the  supreme 
authority  could  take  refuge  in  an  appeal.  Nowadays  our  mania 
for  equality" — he  dared  not  say  for  "Legality,"  as  a  poetic 
orator  in  the  Chamber  courageously  declared  a  short  while 
since — "  will  be  the  death  of  us." 

This  noble  magistrate  knew  all  the  fascination  and  the 
miseries  of  an  illicit  attachment.  Esther  and  Lucien,  as  we 
have  seen,  had  taken  the  rooms  where  the  Comte  de  Gran- 
ville  had  lived  secretly  on  connubial  terms  with  Mademoiselle 
de  Bellefeuille,  and  whence  she  had  fled  one  day,  lured  away 
by  a  villain.* 

At  the  very  moment  when  the  public  prosecutor  was  saying 
to  himself,  "  Camusot  is  sure  to  have  done  something  silly," 
*  See  "A  Second  Home." 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  415 

the  examining  magistrate  knocked  twice  at  the  door  of  his 
room. 

"  Well,  my  dear  Camusot,  how  is  that  case  going  on  that  I 
spoke  of  this  morning?" 

"Badly  for  the  accused,  Monsieur  le  Comte;  read  and 
judge  for  yourself." 

He  held  out  the  minutes  of  the  two  examinations  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Granville,  who  took  up  his  eyeglass  and  went  to  the 
window  to  read  them.  He  had  soon  run  through  them. 

"  You  have  done  your  duty,"  said  the  count  in  an  agitated 
voice.  "It  is  all  over.  The  law  must  take  its  course.  You 
have  shown  so  much  skill  that  you  need  never  fear  being  de- 
prived of  your  appointment  as  examining  judge " 

If  Monsieur  de  Granville  had  said  to  Camusot,  "  You  will 
remain  an  examining  judge  to  your  dying  day,"  he  could  not 
have  been  more  explicit  than  in  making  this  polite  speech. 
Camusot  was  cold  in  his  very  marrow. 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  to  whom  I  owe 
much,  had  desired  me " 

"Oh  yes,  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  is  Madame  de 
Serizy's  friend,"  said  Granville,  interrupting  him.  "To  be 
sure.  You  have  allowed  nothing  to  influence  you,  I  perceive. 
And  you  did  well,  sir;  you  will  be  a  great  magistrate." 

At  this  instant  the  Comte  Octave  de  Bauvan  opened  the  door 
without  knocking,  and  said  to  the  Comte  de  Granville — 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  fair  lady,  my  dear  fellow,  who  did 
not  know  which  way  to  turn  ;  she  was  on  the  point  of  losing 
herself  in  our  labyrinth " 

And  Comte  Octave  led  in  by  the  hand  the  Comtesse  de 
Serizy,  who  had  been  wandering  about  the  place  for  the 
last  quarter  of  an  hour. 

"What,  you  here,  madame  !  "  exclaimed  the  public  prose- 
cutor, pushing  forward  his  own  armchair,  "and  at  this  mo- 
ment !  This,  madame,  is  Monsieur  Camusot,"  he  added, 
introducing  the  judge.  "Bauvan,"  said  he  to  the  distin- 


416  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

guished  ministerial  orator  of  the  Restoration,  "wait  for  me 
in  the  president's  chambers;  he  is  still  there,  and  I  will  join 
you." 

Comte  Octave  de  Bauvan  understood  that  not  merely  was 
he  in  the  way,  but  that  Monsieur  de  Granville  wanted  an 
excuse  for  leaving  his  room. 

Madame  de  Serizy  had  not  made  the  mistake  of  coming  to 
the  Palais  de  Justice  in  her  handsome  carriage  with  a  blue 
hammer-cloth  and  coats-of-arms,  her  coachman  in  gold  lace, 
and  two  footmen  in  breeches  and  silk  stockings.  Just  as  they 
were  starting  Asia  impressed  on  the  two  great  ladies  the  need 
for  taking  the  hackney-coach  in  which  she  and  the  duchess 
had  arrived,  and  she  had  likewise  insisted  on  Lucien's  mistress 
adopting  the  costume  which  is  to  women  what  a  gray  cloak 
was  of  yore  to  men.  The  countess  wore  a  plain  brown  dress, 
an  old  black  shawl,  and  a  velvet  bonnet  from  which  the 
flowers  had  been  removed,  and  the  whole  covered  up  under  a 
thick  lace  veil. 

"You  received  our  note?"  said  she  to  Camusot,  whose 
dismay  she  mistook  for  respectful  admiration. 

"Alas  !  but  too  late,  Madame  la  Comtesse,"  replied  the 
lawyer,  whose  tact  and  wit  failed  him  excepting  in  his  cham- 
bers and  in  presence  of  a  prisoner. 

"Too  late!     How?" 

She  looked  at  Monsieur  de  Granville,  and  saw  consternation 
written  on  his  face.  "  It  cannot  be,  it  must  not  be  too  late  !  " 
she  added,  in  the  tone  of  a  despot. 

Women,  pretty  women,  in  the  position  of  Madame  de 
S6rizy,  are  the  spoilt  children  of  French  civilization.  If  the 
women  of  other  countries  knew  what  a  woman  of  fashion  is  in 
Paris,  a  woman  of  wealth  and  rank,  they  would  all  want  to 
come  and  enjoy  that  splendid  royalty.  The  women  who 
recognize  no  bonds  but  those  of  propriety,  no  law  but  the 
petty  charter  which  has  been  more  than  once  alluded  to  in 
this  Com£die  Humaine  as  the  ladies'  Code,  laugh  at  the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  417 

statutes  framed  by  men.  They  say  everything,  they  do  not 
shrink  from  any  blunder  or  hesitate  at  any  folly,  for  they  all 
accept  the  fact  that  they  are  irresponsible  beings,  answerable 
for  nothing  on  earth  but  their  good  repute  and  their  children. 
They  say  the  most  preposterous  things  with  a  laugh,  and  are 
ready  on  every  occasion  to  repeat  the  speech  made  in  the 
early  days  of  her  married  life  by  pretty  Madame  de  Bauvan  to 
her  husband,  whom  she  came  to  fetch  away  from  the  Palais : 
"  Make  haste  and  pass  sentence,  and  come  away  ;  I  want  you." 

"Madame,"  said  the  public  prosecutor,  "Monsieur  Lucien 
de  Rubempre  is  not  guilty  either  of  robbery  or  of  poisoning ; 
but  Monsieur  Camusot  has  led  him  to  confess  a  still  greater 
crime." 

"  What  is  that? "  she  asked. 

"He  acknowledged,"  said  Monsieur  Camusot  in  her  ear, 
"  that  he  is  the  friend  and  pupil  of  an  escaped  convict.  The 
Abbe  Carlos  Herrera,  the  Spaniard  with  whom  he  has  been 
living  for  the  last  seven  years,  is  the  notorious  Jacques 
Coffin." 

Madame  de  Serizy  felt  as  if  it  were  a  blow  from  an  iron  rod 
at  each  word  spoken  by  the  judge,  but  this  name  was  the 
finishing  stroke. 

"And  the  upshot  of  all  this  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  was 
no  more  than  a  breath. 

"Is,"  Monsieur  de  Granville  went  on,  finishing  the 
countess'  sentence  in  an  undertone,  "  that  the  convict  will  be 
committed  for  trial,  and  that  if  Lucien  is  not  committed  with 
him  as  having  profited  as  an  accessory  to  the  man's  crimes,  he 
must  appear  as  a  witness  very  seriously  compromised." 

"Oh !  never,  never  !  "  she  cried  aloud,  with  amazing  firm- 
ness. "  For  my  part,  I  should  not  hesitate  between  death 
and  the  disaster  of  seeing  a  man  whom  the  world  has  known 
to  be  my  dearest  friend  declared  by  the  bench  to  be  the  ac- 
complice of  a  convict.  The  King  has  a  great  regard  for  my 

husband " 

27 


418  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

"Madame,"  said  the  public  prosecutor,  also  aloud,  and 
with  a  smile,  "  the  King  has  not  the  smallest  power  over  the 
humblest  examining  judge  in  his  kingdom,  nor  over  the  pro- 
ceedings in  any  court  of  justice.  That  is  the  grand  feature 
of  our  new  Code  of  laws.  I  myself  have  just  congratulated 
Monsieur  Camusot  on  his  skill " 

"On  his  clumsiness,"  said  the  countess  sharply,  though 
Lucien's  intimacy  with  a  scoundrel  really  disturbed  h«r  far 
less  than  his  attachment  to  Esther. 

"If  you  will  read  the  report  of  the  examination  of  the 
two  prisoners  by  Monsieur  Camusot,  you  will  see  that  every- 
thing depends  on  Aim." 

After  this  speech,  the  only  thing  the  public  prosecutor 
could  venture  to  say,  and  a  flash  of  feminine — or,  if  you  will, 
lawyer-like — cunning,  he  went  to  the  door;  then,  turning 
round  on  the  threshold,  he  added — 

"  Excuse  me,  madame  ;  I  have  two  words  to  say  to  Bauvan." 
Which,  translated  by  the  worldly  wise,  conveyed  to  the 
countess :  "  I  do  not  want  to  witness  the  scene  between  you 
and  Camusot." 

"What  is  this  examination  business?"  said  Leontine  very 
blandly  to  Camusot,  who  stood  downcast  in  the  presence  of  the 
wife  of  one  of  the  most  important  personages  in  the  realm. 

"Madame,"  said  Camusot,  "a.  clerk  writes  down  all  the 
magistrate's  questions  and  the  prisoner's  replies.  This  docu- 
ment is  signed  by  the  clerk,  by  the  judge,  and  by  the  prisoner. 
This  evidence  is  the  raw  material  of  the  subsequent  proceed- 
ings ;  on  it  the  accused  are  committed  for  trial,  and  remanded 
to  appear  before  the  Criminal  Court." 

"Well,  then,"  said  she,  "if  the  evidence  were  sup- 
pressed  ? ' ' 

"  Oh,  madame,  that  is  a  crime  which  no  magistrate  could 
possibly  commit — a  crime  against  society." 

"  It  is  a  far  worse  crime  against  me  to  have  ever  allowed  it 
to  be  recorded ;  still,  at  this  moment  it  is  the  only  evidence 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  419 

against  Lucien.  Come,  read  me  the  minutes  of  his  examina- 
tion that  I  may  see  if  there  is  still  any  way  of  salvation  for  us 
all,  monsieur.  I  do  not  speak  for  myself  alone — I  could  quite 
calmly  kill  myself— but  Monsieur  de  Serizy's  happiness  is  also 
at  stake. ' ' 

"  Pray,  madame,  do  not  suppose  that  I  have  forgotten  the 
respect  due  to  you,"  said  Camusot.  "If  Monsieur  Popinot, 
for  instance,  had  undertaken  this  case,  you  would  have  had 
worse  luck  than  you  have  found  with  me ;  for  he  would  not 
have  come  to  consult  Monsieur  de  Granville ;  no  one  would 
have  heard  anything  about  it.  I  tell  you,  madame,  everything 
has  been  seized  in  Monsieur  Lucien's  lodgings,  even  your 
letters " 

"What!  my  letters!  " 

"Here  they  are,  madame,  in  a  sealed  packet." 

The  countess  in  her  agitation  rang  as  if  she  had  been  at 
home,  and  the  office-boy  came  in. 

"A  light,"  said  she. 

The  boy  lighted  a  taper  and  placed  it  on  the  mantel,  while 
the  countess  looked  through  the  letters,  counted  them,  crushed 
them  in  her  hand,  and  flung  them  on  the  hearth.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  set  the  whole  mass  in  a  blaze,  twisting  up  the  last 
note  to  serve  as  a  torch. 

Camusot  stood,  looking  rather  foolish  as  he  watched  the 
papers  burn,  holding  the  legal  documents  in  his  hand.  The 
countess,  who  seemed  absorbed  in  the  work  of  destroying  the 
proofs  of  her  passion,  studied  him  out  of  the  corner  of  her 
eye.  She  took  her  time,  she  calculated  her  distance ;  with 
the  spring  of  a  cat  she  seized  the  two  documents  and  threw 
them  on  the  flames.  But  Camusot  saved  them ;  the  countess 
rushed  on  him  and  snatched  back  the  burning  papers.  A  strug- 
gle ensued,  Camusot  calling  out :  "  Madame,  but  madame  ! 
This  is  contempt — madame  !  " 

A  man  hurried  into  the  room,  and  the  countess  could  not 
repress  a  scream  as  she  beheld  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  followed 


420  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

by  Monsieur  de  Granville  and  the  Comte  de  Bauvan.  Leon- 
tine,  however,  determined  to  save  Lucien  at  any  cost,  would 
not  let  go  of  the  terrible  stamped  documents,  which  she 
clutched  with  the  tenacity  of  a  vise,  though  the  flame  had 
already  burnt  her  delicate  skin  like  a  moxa. 

At  last  Camusot,  whose  fingers  also  were  smarting  from  the 
fire,  seemed  to  be  ashamed  of  the  position ;  he  let  the  papers 
go ;  there  was  nothing  left  of  them  but  the  portions  so  tightly 
held  by  the  antagonists  that  the  flame  could  not  touch  them. 
The  whole  scene  had  taken  less  time  than  is  needed  to  read 
this  account  of  it. 

"What  discussion  can  have  arisen  between  you  and 
Madame  de  Serizy  ?  "  the  husband  asked  of  Camusot. 

Before  the  lawyer  could  reply,  the  countess  held  the  frag- 
ments in  the  candle  and  threw  them  on  the  remains  of  her 
letters,  which  were  not  entirely  consumed. 

"I  shall  be  compelled,"  said  Camusot,  "to  lay  a  com- 
plaint against  Madame  la  Comtesse— — " 

"Heh!  What  has  she  done?"  asked  the  public  prose- 
cutor, looking  alternately  at  the  lady  and  the  magistrate. 

"  I  have  burnt  the  record  of  the  examinations,"  said  the 
lady  of  fashion  with  a  laugh,  so  pleased  at  her  high-handed 
conduct  that  she  did  not  yet  feel  the  pain  of  the  burns.  "If 
that  is  a  crime — well,  monsieur  must  get  his  odious  scrawl 
written  over  again/' 

"Very  true,"  said  Camusot,  trying,  but  vainly,  to  recover 
his  dignity. 

"  Well,  well,  '  All's  well  that  ends  well,'  "  said  Monsieur  de 
Granville.  "But,  my  dear  countess,  you  must  not  often  take 
such  liberties  with  the  Law ;  it  might  fail  to  discern  whom  and 
what  you  are." 

"  Monsieur  Camusot  valiantly  resisted  a  woman  whom  none 
can  resist;  the  honor  of  the  Robe  is  safe!  "  said  the  Comte 
de  Bauvan,  laughing. 

"Ah!  .Monsieur    Camusot   resisted,  did  he?"  said   the 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  421 

public  prosecutor,  laughing.  "He  is  a  brave  man  indeed  ;  I 
should  not  dare  resist  the  countess." 

And  thus  for  the  moment  this  serious  affair  was  no  more 
than  a  pretty  woman's  jest,  at  which  Camusot  himself  must 
laugh. 

But  Monsieur  de  Granville  saw  one  man  who  was  not 
amused.  Not  a  little  alarmed  by  the  Comte  de  Serizy's  at- 
titude and  expression,  his  friend  led  him  aside. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  he  in  a  whisper,  "  your  distress  per- 
suades me  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  my  life  to  compromise 
with  my  duty." 

The  public  prosecutor  rang,  and  the  office-boy  at  once 
appeared. 

"  Desire  Monsieur  de  Chargebceuf,  to  come  here,"  said  the 
Comte  de  Granville. 

Monsieur  de  Chargebreuf,  a  suckling  barrister,  was  his  private 
secretary. 

"My  good  friend,"  said  the  Comte  de  Granville  to  Camu- 
sot, whom  he  took  to  the  window,  "go  back  to  your  cham- 
bers, get  your  clerk  to  reconstruct  the  report  of  the  Abbe 
Carlos  Herrera's  depositions ;  as  he  had  not  signed  the  first 
copy,  there  will  be  no  difficulty  about  that.  To-morrow  you 
must  confront  your  Spanish  diplomatist  with  Rastignac  and 
Bianchon,  who  will  not  recognize  him  as  Jacques  Collin. 
Then,  being  sure  of  his  release,  the  man  will  sign  the  docu- 
ment. 

"As  to  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  set  him  free  this  evening;  he 
is  not  likely  to  talk  about  an  examination  of  which  the  evidence 
is  destroyed,  especially  after  such  a  lecture  as  I  shall  give  him. 
The  '  Police  Gazette '  (Gazette  des  Tribuneaux)  will  an- 
nounce his  release  to-morrow. 

"Now  you  will  see  how  little  justice  suffers  by  these  pro- 
ceedings. If  the  Spaniard  really  is  the  convict,  we  have  fifty 
ways  of  recapturing  him  and  committing  him  for  trial — for  we 
are  having  his  conduct  in  Spain  thoroughly  investigated. 


422  THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS. 

Corentin,  the  police  agent,  will  take  care  of  him  for  us,  and 
we  ourselves  will  keep  an  eye  on  him.  So  treat  him  decently; 
do  not  send  him  down  to  the  cells  again. 

"  Can  we  be  the  death  of  the  Comte  and  Comtesse  de 
Serizy,  as  well  as  of  Lucien,  for  the  theft  of  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  as  yet  unproven,  and  to  Lucien's 
personal  loss?  Will  it  not  be  better  for  him  to  lose  the 
money  than  to  lose  his  character  ?  Above  all,  if  he  is  to  drag 
with  him  in  his  fall  a  minister  of  State,  and  his  wife,  and  the 
Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse. 

"  This  young  man  is  a  speckled  orange ;  do  not  leave  it  to 
rot. 

"All  this  will  take  you  about  half  an  hour;  go  and  get  it 
done ;  we  will  wait  for  you.  It  is  half-past  three ;  you  will  still 
find  some  judges  about.  Let  me  know  if  you  can  get  a  rule 
of  insufficient  evidence — or  Lucien  must  wait  till  to-morrow 
morning." 

Camusot  bowed  to  the  company  and  went ;  but  Madame  de 
Serizy,  who  was  suffering  a  good  deal  from  her  burns,  did  not 
return  his  bow. 

Monsieur  de  Serizy,  who  had  suddenly  rushed  away  while 
the  public  prosecutor  and  the  magistrate  were  talking  together, 
presently  returned,  having  fetched  a  small  jar  of  ointment  or 
ceratum.  With  this  he  dressed  his  wife's  fingers,  saying  in  an 
undertone — 

"Leontine,  why  did  you  come  here  without  letting  me 
know?" 

"Oh,  my  friend,"  replied  she  in  a  whisper,  "forgive  me. 
I  seem  mad,  but  indeed  your  interests  were  as  much  involved 
as  mine." 

"Love  this  young  fellow  if  fatality  requires  it,  but  do  not 
display  your  passion  to  all  the  world,"  said  the  luckless 
husband. 

"Well,  my  dear  countess,"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville, 
who  had  been  engaged  in  conversation  with  Comte  Octave, 


THE  HARLOT'S  PROGRESS.  423 

"  I  hope  you  may  take  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  home  to  dine 
with  you  this  evening." 

This  half-promise  produced  a  reaction  ;  Madame  de  Serizy 
melted  into  tears. 

"I  thought  I  had  no  tears  left,"  said  she  with  a  smile. 
"  But  could  you  not  bring  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  to  wait 
here?" 

"I  will  try  if  I  can  find  ushers  to  fetch  him,  so  that  he 
may  not  be  seen  under  the  escort  of  the  gendarmes,"  said 
Monsieur  de  Granville. 

"You  are  as  good  as  God!"  cried  she,  with  a  gush  of 
feeling  that  made  her  voice  sound  like  heavenly  music. 

"These  are  the  women,"  said  Comte  Octave,  "who  are 
fascinating,  irresistible!  " 

And  he  became  melancholy  as  he  thought  of  his  own  wife. 
(See  "Honorine.") 

As  he  left  the  room,  Monsieur  de  Granville  was  stopped  by 
young  Chargebceuf,  to  whom  he  spoke  to  give  him  instructions 
as  to  what  he  was  to  say  to  Massol,  one  of  the  editors  of  the 
"Gazette  des  Tribunaux." 


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